Things I Have But Could Have Done Without
by ModestyRabnott
Summary: Follow Tonks as she adjusts to her new life as a member of the Order, and the changes that it brings.
1. Chapter One: Transitions

_When did my life get this chaotic? _

I kick open the heavy door to my building and somehow manage to simultaneously drop my wand, trip over the doormat, and jam my elbow into the doorframe. _Bugger, that hurts._ It's 4:00 a.m. and I'm so tired I can hardly stand. Just as I head up the stairs, I hear Mrs. Drinkwater's vicious little terrier start barking his head off. Superb. As if she doesn't loathe me enough as it is.

I hurry up to my flat and quickly make to enter, but then hesitate. Even in my exhaustion I sense something's wrong. There is a dim light escaping from beneath the door to my flat. And my Daily Prophet is gone from my mat. Stepped over it on way out because I was running late. No one in the building would nick it – everyone subscribes. Someone's been here.

Good news is I'm fair at defending myself; bad news is that if a Death Eater is in there waiting to kill me, the fucking dog has given them quite a heads up on my arrival.

_Alohomora_.

Slowly I push open the door slightly, but stay in the hallway to the side and wait. I hear nothing. Just as I am about to start inside, someone jerks open the door the rest of the way and pulls me inside. Reflexes kick in. I swiftly reverse direction and sweep him at the knees; he goes down hard while I recover my wand.

"Ow! Shite, what the hell, Tonks?"

"Curtis! You scared me to death! Are you okay? What are you doing here!" I reach down and offer my hand, but he doesn't take it. Instead, he gingerly gets to his feet on his own. I think I really hurt his knee. "I'm so sorry, love." I smile apologetically, and move in to touch him, but he turns away. His back to me.

"Thanks for the warm welcome, Curtis," I say coolly. "I'm sorry if I hurt you, but you scared - "

"It's not that."

_Oh._

_A sense of unease creeps in. I know what's coming. It's been inevitable, really, and yet . . ._

"Where the hell were you tonight?" And there it is. The question that he's been avoiding asking me directly for weeks. Which was convenient, actually, because it's easy to avoid answering an unasked question. I don't answer now, and for some reason I can't quite look at him. So he continues.

"Please. Tell me where you've been. I've been worried." Part of me is bothered by this statement, because I can tell by his physical distance that he's more angry than worried. But I can't keep up the annoyance. I am, after all, the guilty party here.

My first instinct is to tell him I picked up an overtime shift from Scrimgeour. It's my best fallback explanation, been using it for weeks. He knows I need the extra money, and he can't confirm or disprove it, because he doesn't work at the Ministry and has no mates in my department. I almost do it. Open my mouth to deliver the lie for the umpteenth time, when I remember.

Saying goodbye this morning. He reminded me of his plans with friends tonight, and I teased him.

"_Thank _Merlin_, I'll have a night to myself for a change. Getting a bit tired of having you around all the time." He took the bait, and pulled me to him, smiling._

"_Is that so? And how will you manage with me?" _

"_Hmm . . ." I say into his neck, "Since it's my first night off in a week, I'm thinking takeaway a hot bath." _

"_Now that sounds even better than my plans," he says, kissing me._

My first night off in a week. Shite.Shot myself in the foot this time. No excuses.

He's waiting for me to respond.

"I don't know what to say, Curtis." _I don't, really_.

He deserves an explanation. He deserves the truth. But of course I can't tell him the truth. I was on duty for the Order tonight.

"You don't know what to say?" he says quietly. "What does that even mean?"

"Don't know." I almost wish he'd yell at me. It would be easier if he weren't so damn patient.

"That's a child's answer, Tonks." But I can see the patience waning now. "Here, let me help you," he says glibly. "Are you seeing someone?"

"No." And I know he believes me. Hell, if only it were as simple at that.

"Tonks. Are you involved in something illegal?"

"No! Curtis, how can you ask me that?" _It's not illegal. Well, not exactly._

"I don't know _what_ to think, Tonks. That's why I'm asking. Why don't you tell me what I should think?"

Finally, I look up into his face. He's really beautiful. Fell for him immediately, in fact. Met him in an uncharacteristically quiet bar near Sloane, and was fairly hypnotized by the combination of his chocolate skin, light eyes, and gentle voice. Not at all the kind of guy I usually go for. He went on for quite awhile about the publisher he works for in Diagon Alley, of which I heard little, before I finally had the presence of mind to ask him to come home with me. Like some slag. Have never done that before. Okay, at least not with a stranger. And I got lucky, I suppose, because he turned out to be bloody amazing and not some serial rapist.

Strange, I think, how it seems nostalgic thinking about it now. As if it's already a part of The Past. As if I already know I've lost him.

"Tonks?" His voice breaks through my stupor.

And now, six months later, he's standing before me, waiting.

"Tonks, listen. I care for you. A lot. Hell, I'm falling in love with you." _Shite. No. _This isn't how I wanted this to play out. I can feel the tears welling.

He continues. "But it's like you've got this other life I know nothing about, and . . . well. I feel like I'm in too deep as it is to let this go any further unless we can be honest with each other."

Still, I'm silent. And still, he waits. Waiting for some show from me that he can trust me. That what we have is worth that. And I can't do it. I can't give it to him.

"I'm sorry, Curtis. My life is just really complicated right now." And, then, "Listen, I'm going to go get some coffee. I know you have to be to work in a bit. Feel free to get ready here. I won't be back until later."

And just like that, I leave. It feels a bit odd, leaving him there, since it's my place. Hazily, I also consider that the absence of the yelling and/or door slamming breakup is new for me. Maybe this is the way people end relationships when they are responsible adults. Wouldn't know, really. But then the numbness doesn't feel so mature. It just feels empty.

I step outside only to be met by a rush of icy air. Damn. Forgot how cold it was. So I pull my cloak more tightly around me, and start walking. Have no idea where I'm going.

Can't go to my parents'. They'll kill me for buggering up this thing with Curtis. First bloke I've ever brought home that they actually liked. Mum was picking out flower arrangements after their second meeting.

The sun's just coming up now. I continue on.

Can't call on a girlfriend, for much the same reasons I am losing Curtis. I've let my friendships drift a bit over recent months to avoid explaining my frequent unavailability. I'm guessing they've assumed Curtis has been monopolizing my time, and I didn't exactly correct them. Now, to elicit sympathy for a breakup, I'd have to offer up some reasons why he's to blame, or at least why my actions were justified. And I can do neither.

And then, it hits me. Like a ton of bricks. This is how it is now. This is how it would be if I were to start something new, with someone else. My involvement in the Order has effectively robbed me of much of my previous life. I hadn't considered this when Kingsley approached me to join. Even though he told me it would happen, and warned me to consider it carefully.

Funny, though, I don't feel regret. And I'm not sorry for joining. The Order has given me a sense of purpose I was sorely lacking before, even as an Auror. I'd do it all over again.

And so, now at least, I know where my feet are taking me. Really, there's only one place _to_ go.


	2. Chapter Two: Settling In

With a slow groan, the heavy oak door swings open to expose Molly's Weasley's surprised expression.

"Tonks! What are you doing here at this hour? I'm just out of bed myself."'

"Morning, Molly. Sorry to bother you. Password's changed again, has it?" _Dodged that question skillfully. _

"Yes, dear. It's 'pepperup potion' now," she replies, after sealing the door again. "So, why the early appearance? Or, is it a late one, then?"

Why do I bother? It's like she knows all anyway.

"It's the latter, I'm afraid. Pulled another all nighter for the Order." She's already leading the way back into Number Twelve's basement kitchen, so I subconsciously follow, thinking that it might mean tea, or maybe even coffee, when the aroma of something heavenly baking blindsides me as we pass through the door. I close my eyes for the inhale – that's how good this smell is.

"Oh! That smells brilliant, Molly. I thought you said you were just up?" I am realizing only now that I haven't eaten in maybe . . . 26 hours? Can that be right?

"Mad-Eye and Arthur left around 5, and I guess I must have risen soon after. Hard to get back to sleep when it's almost light. You know how it is." _Not really._ _Usually I can sleep well into the day._

I look at Molly, and see her anxieties revealing themselves briefly on her tired face. She's had so much to worry about over these last few months. More than her fair share. Quickly, she resumes her cheery façade. "Anyway, I threw together some breakfast. Sirius and Remus are the only ones here to enjoy it, so it's good that you stopped over. Why don't you put the kettle on, dear?"

Molly leaves the room on some errand, and as instructed, I fetch the kettle and move to the sink. As I am at my task, I hear the kitchen door open again quietly. My back still to the door, I smile secretly to myself.

"Wotcher, Remus," I say, without turning.

"Very perceptive, Tonks. And here I thought stealth and tracking wasn't your forte." His voice reveals the smile I can't see. And so now I turn. _Sight for sore eyes, he is._

"As an auror possessing so many talents, some will always rank below others, I imagine." Remus is one of the few people with whom I can comfortably make fun of myself, which is nice. And much needed on a day such as today.

"Too right. You're a wonder, Ms. Tonks." He humors me, I know, but I'll take it.

"Actually, Molly told me who's in the house, and it's a pretty safe guess that Sirius wouldn't be up this early. What time is it, anyway?"

He checks his watch. "About half six. Speaking of which, shouldn't you be home sleeping right now?"

_Oh, yeah. Forgot. _

The few minutes of levity have served to distract me from why I'm here and not home. Because as we speak, my perfectly wonderful boyfriend is in my flat packing up all evidence that we ever had a relationship these last months. _Gods, it's going to be depressing to go back there later._ Remus must have noticed my face cloud over, because he asks, "Are you alright, Tonks?"

_What?_ "Yes, fine, thanks, Remus. Just a bit tired, I suppose."

"And you're not home because . . .?"

I pulled another all night duty, and just came here afterwards because I was hungry. I'm sure I've got nothing in my flat." Okay, a lie. But I _am_ hungry.

He's not buying it, though. Oh, hell. I've got to tell people sometime, and Remus will be the easiest. Won't rib me like Sirius, or question me, like Molly. "I think things are over with Curtis."

"You _think_?" Ah, the 'gentle prod' approach. But how can I be cross with him when he looks so genuinely concerned for me?

"Okay, I don't think. I know. He's there now, undoubtedly cursing the nigh the met me. He caught me out all night tonight and I'm fresh out of alibis. He's tired of it."

"I'm sorry."

"Me, too. But it was just getting too difficult, you know? I feel like I'm lying to him all the time. No, I _was_ lying to him. He deserves better."

"So do you, Tonks." _What?_

"Remus, Curtis is great! Please, don't - "

"No, no, don't misunderstand me. I don't mean better than Curtis. I mean better than that arrangement. You shouldn't have to hide any part of yourself to someone you're close to. It just never ends well that way."

He sort of trails off here, and maybe we're not talking about me and Curtis now. No one knows more about hiding than Remus, to be sure. Still, I feel like I should say something.

_Bang!_

We both jump as Molly comes into the room backside first, arms full of boxes containing Merlin knows what. Remus rises to help lighten her load and I know our conversation is over. But he gives me a small smile that is meant to reassure me. It doesn't in itself, but his desire to offer it sure does.

Breakfast is just the three of us, as Sirius is still in bed. Molly's cooking is legendary and not wasted on me this morning, as I go for my third helping. Remus chuckles, but Molly clucks at me.

"My word, Tonks. Where do you _put_ all this? Look at the size of you! When the last time you've eaten?"

"Yesterday afternoon, I think. I've been on duty since then."

She's outraged. "That's ridiculous. We'll have to talk to Albus and Alastor. You can't be working 20 hours in a row!"

I swallow my tea before explaining. "No, Molly, I was only scheduled to be on until 8, but I covered for Hestia. She had plans to visit family this weekend, and I couldn't really say no. She's covered for me so many times."

Molly looks placated, but still concerned. "Well, nonetheless, you should be on your way now. Get home and get some rest. Remus will help me clear." I shoot Remus a look and he comes to my rescue.

"Actually Molly, Tonks was just telling me she's planning on resting here for awhile. No sense in going all the way home when she's got a room here and we have a meeting tonight." He turns to address me.

"Tonks, let me help you sort your room out. I know it's been awhile since you've used it and I'm sure it could use some freshening up. Molly, I'll be back in just a minute to help you clean up." But Molly is already at the sink, waving us off, before we leave the kitchen and start up the stairs.

"Thanks, Remus. I appreciate the diversion in there. I love Molly, it's just - " He puts a hand up to stop me.

"Don't apologize. Believe me, I know. She means well, but you'd be in there listening to her forever if she knew you were here as a romance refugee, and not just for the food." His smile is genuine.

Suddenly we're at my door. I open it and enter, wincing inwardly with embarrassment. It's a mess as usual, but as haven't stayed here in a few weeks and it's a bit dusty and stale as well. If Remus is dismayed, he doesn't show it. Instead, he moves past me, lights the fire, casts a couple of quick scourgifies – on the bed and then the floor, and turns back to me.

"That'll do for now. You can do the rest later. Do you have anything to sleep in?" _Hadn't really thought about that._

"No. I suppose I should probably move a few things back here. I can just kip in my clothes for today. S'not a problem."

"Tonks," he begins, sounding for all the world like a professor speaking to an impertinent student, "you've been in those clothes for a long time." He sees my growing mirth for his little lecture, so he lightens it with, "It's quite revolting, actually. Let me lend you something?"

"Sure, Remus, that would be appreciated. I wouldn't want to subject you to any further revulsion on my part."

And with that, he leaves to fetch me something, and I sit down on the bed and begin to peel off my grubby jeans. They have taken on that stage of dirtiness where they begin to feel like actual skin. He's right, it is revolting. I'm sitting there in my knickers, realizing just how tired I actually am, when Remus walks back in carrying some pajamas.

"Oh!" He immediately turns his back. "I'm so sorry, Tonks. I didn't think you'd be changing already." Without facing me, he holds out the clothing to me, which I accept. His embarrassment is adorable.

"Remus, really, it's fine. I work in an almost all-male department, and change in front of blokes more often than I care to think about. I'm used to it. Please don't be embarrassed."

Still, he waits a good sixty seconds before turning around, presumably to ensure that I've managed to cover myself properly. And indeed, I've changed into the pajamas he's brought me. He gives me a bit of a crooked smile as he surveys my appearance. They're a bit large, but not too bad. I'm taller than I look. The pixie face makes me appear shorter, I'm told. But Remus is tall, I'm noticing, as he stands here in my room. Hadn't really thought about it before, but he must be a good six feet.

I don't know why he waited for me to change before leaving, but now that he's facing me, he doesn't seem to know how to take his leave. Why does he seem nervous?

"Well, you should really get some rest. I can't have you getting sick on me." Very charming, this one.

"It's very sweet that you're worried about me, Remus -" I start, but he cuts me off.

"No, it's not that. It's just that I have two nights off in a row from the Order, and everyone else is on. If you get sick, I'd be the first one asked to cover for you." _Oh._ _Well, I feel sheepish_.

He continues, "And I really don't want to pick up the shift, because I have plans for after the meeting."

_Plans?_ "Plans?"

"Plans."

"As in a date?" _Am I being nosey?_

"Yes, if you must know, I have a date."

"_Do_ you, now?" I plop onto the bed in a conspiratorial fashion. "Do tell, Remus! Who's the lucky girl?" _Was I tired? Not anymore. This is fascinating._

For a moment, I think he might roll his eyes at me, but he resists the temptation. "Emmeline, if you must know."

"WHAT! Vance?"

"Do we know another Emmeline?" He's not insulted, just waiting for my reaction.

"Isn't she a bit, I don't know, _old_ for you?

"She's only a few years older than me."

I snort. "Yeah, in actual years, maybe."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know, it's just that I tend to think of you as a mate, and I think of Emmeline as someone who'd have tea with my mother." He seems to like this assessment, because he laughs at that.

"She's not as uptight as you'd think." _Eew! What does that mean?_

"You've slept with her!" _Did I just say that out loud?_

"No," he says plainly. Although I don't see it's any of your business." But he's smiling all the same as he starts toward the door. "Get some rest, Tonks. I'll see you at the meeting."

After he closes the door, I cast a quick spell to darken the windows and climb into bed. It's actually quite comfortable, and smells fresh now. The fire has already warmed the room, and the quilt is snuggly. The pajamas I'm wearing are soft – old and worn, but soft all the same. And they smell of tea, and soap, and something else. I breathe deeply and close my eyes. Smells like home.


	3. Chapter Three: Protect the Heart

Chapter Three – Protect the Heart

_Bloody hell, this music is tedious_. The bathroom at the muggle club is down a long hallway, some distance from the main floor. So mostly I feel the loud _thum-thum-thum_ through the walls rather than hear it. Although I love to dance, this stuff all sounds about the same to me. Same bloody lyrics about some pathetic girl who's desperate for the affections of some wanker who can't keep his hands off other girls.

I suppose I'm more into alternative stuff. Although, as I think on it, everything I like is about some poor bloke who's desperate for the affections of some slag who can't keep her hands of other blokes. I snort at myself in the mirror at the notion.

A stall door opens behind me and a girl catches me laughing at myself, and eyes me suspiciously as she washes her hands. She slips out without making eye contact. No worries. She probably just thinks I'm high. If only. Instead, I'm waiting to be alone so I can make a change.

I came here with the tarty university student look. Clean, straight, blonde hair, swept up, with tight jeans and an even tighter top. As if I'm just a regular girl who goes to lessons all week and goes out on the weekend to pretend she's looser than she actually is. And I've been complaining about what a drag school is to all the tossers I've let buy me a drink so I can ask them questions.

Because I'm not here for fun tonight. _As if there was fun to be had here._ I'm here on assignment for the Order. Recon, actually. Although this is a muggle club, it is well-known to be frequented by wizards as well. And it attracts the same type of wizards as it does muggles: young, horny, and not too clever. This makes it prime Death Eater recruitment territory.

Anyway, for almost an hour I've been chatting up this athletic looking wizard at the bar, Ted. No, Ed. Anyway, he's been telling me about some "secret society" he's been asked to join. All it took was revealing that I'm a witch and a couple of brushes up against him in strategic places and he was spilling it like a leaky goblet.

"Really, it's quite an honor to be approached," he said. "Centuries old, this group. Bit like a fraternal order. Brotherhood of purebloods, if you will."

_Merlin, what an idiot. They're going to use you as a mercenary, you arse._ He's been lapping it up, this shite they've been feeding him.

"Well, they know how to pick 'em, I'd say," I offered with a smile. Moving in a bit closer, my thighs were just close enough to him that he needed to spread his legs a bit to accommodate me. _Yep, he likes this just fine. All defences down._ "It sounds really exciting. How'd you hear about this society?"

"Some witch approached me. Said she and her husband were officers of the organization, and always looking for young, exemplary wizards who care about our history. Working to preserve our proud heritage. I told her I'd be honored to join."

"I don't blame you. I'm a bit worried, myself, when I see the direction our people are moving in. Mudbloods at the Ministry, half breeds all over the place. It's a different world today." _I'm such a good liar I scare myself sometimes._

He looked so pleased at my disclosure, and it's like the floodgates were opened. "Tell me about it! Hey, you know, why don't you come with me? It's just an informational meeting . . ."

After a couple more minutes, I'd gotten everything I need. Not a moment too soon, either, since Ed's hands were starting to get a bit too familiar with my hips and arse. So I excuse myself to the loo, suggesting that when I return maybe we could 'head out.' Thought he might lose it right there.

And now, I'm in front of the mirror, deciding what I'd like to look like when I walk back past him undetected, to the table where Kingsley has been sitting, watching the whole scene transpire. I'm thinking long, straight and blue hair. And paler skin. Scrunch of the face, concentrate. _There._ I transfigure my clothes a bit. More black, less color. Skirt instead of jeans. Bit of black around the eyes. More punk. More _me_. Good look, actually. Will have to remember this one.

I walk back past the bar and barely suppress my eyerolling as Ed checks out my arse, oblivious to the fact that it's the same one he's been groping for half an hour. Approaching Kingsley's booth and sliding in, I pretend I'm just arriving. He smiles and keeps up the charade, leaning in to whisper in my ear. Like a lover.

But when his lips are against my ear, his manner changes entirely. I can feel his irritation as his low voice rumbles, "That was a stupid thing to do, Tonks. Let's get the hell out of here."

"Pepper-up potion," I hiss through my teeth. There is a small click, but I am too impatient to wait for the door to move of its own volition. I heave against it and inadvertently send it banging against the wall.

_"Filthy mudblood! How dare you disgrace the house of my fathers with your insolent clumsiness! Your pitiful mother is an abomination to the noble name of Black!"_

"Mother! Shut the hell up!" Thankfully, Sirius is quick on the uptake, getting the curtains closed amidst the shrill screams. He looks at me with annoyance, but I'm not expected to say anything. He's not truly angry.

I follow him as he returns to the parlor, to find Remus on the settee before the fire. There is a half-empty bottle of Ogden's on the table next to him, and it seems the two of them have been having some sort of little pity party here tonight. _Perfect._

I stand there looking from one to the other, without speaking.

Finally Sirius breaks the silence. "How was your night?"

I don't answer. Instead, I turn, walk into the kitchen, retrieve a glass form the cabinet, and return to the parlorIt makes a little _plunk_ as I set it down on the table next to the firewhiskey, before plopping myself down on the settee next to Remus.

"That good, yeah?" Sirius asks. He's already back lounging in the overstuffed chair, feet up on the table, chuckling at me. I ignore him and turn to Remus.

"Share," I say, nodding to the bottle. He raises an eyebrow at me. "It wasn't a request, Remus."

Remus smiles and pours; Sirius hoots at my blatant bitchiness.

"Shut up, Sirius. I'm tired. And Kingsley's on my arse because I morphed during the assignment tonight. He thinks it was a stupid thing to do, could have given me away."

"How so?" Remus asks calmly, handing me my drink.

"Forgot to change the boots." I place my Docs up on the table, admiring again the way they look with my tights and short skirt. Some looks are just plain _classic_.

Sirius and Remus exchange some sort of look, and Sirius states with mock indifference, "I don't think anyone was looking at the boots."

"That's what I said!" I yell. "The bloke was too busy probing the rest of my body with his grubby paws. I could have been barefoot and he wouldn't have noticed." Remus chokes a bit on his drink.

Sirius continues to smirk. "What did Shacklebolt say?"

"Said I should have just given him the signal and apparated out of there, as planned. That I'm too **_green_** to be making changes to the plan and that I should just follow orders."

They both wince excessively, knowing how much I hate references to my youth and/or inexperience. It's my weakness, I know. I'm overly sensitive about it. But still, I made it through training just like everyone else, and I've proven myself a dozen times over by now. Sometimes I feel as if I'll be in the Department twenty years and still be the bloody _new kid_. Finally taking a breath, I knock back my drink in one swallow and place it back next to the bottle.

"Fill 'er up, Remus. And no girly size serving this time, please." When I look at him, I notice he's a bit dressed up. _He looks great._ _Oh, wait -_

"Speaking of lovely evenings, what are you doing here, Remus? Aren't you supposed to be painting the town tonight with your _lady friend_?" I'm being cheeky, I know, but I love seeing this man squirm.

He looks a bit embarrassed, but I don't think it's at my ribbing. He hands me my drink again, but ignores my question. I look to Sirius for enlightenment.

"Moony's night didn't quite go as planned, Tonks."

Remus gives Sirius a warning look, but is grinning, so I feel it's safe to tease, "She didn't put out, eh, Remus?"

He gives me a playful jab on the leg for my impertinence, and again looks at Sirius, who can barely contain himself. "Go on and tell her, then, Moony. It's just Tonks."

Remus looks at me with a grimace and says, "Emmeline told me she's in love with me." Sirius roars with laughter, as if it's the first time he's heard this story.

I'm rather gobsmacked by this news, I'll admit. Still, I say the first thing that comes to my mind. "Well, of _course_ she is. You honestly didn't see this coming?"

"No, not really. We'd been out a couple of times, but I thought the whole thing was very casual. I didn't think it was going anywhere."

Sirius pipes in, still laughing. "Well, to be honest, Remus, you were hoping it might lead to _something_, but of a more _casual_ nature." I'm starting to be a bit annoyed with Sirius. Remus looks upset about the situation, and I think he would be even more embarrassed had they not already been drinking for awhile. In fact, sober, I'm sure he'd avoid the conversation entirely.

He looks at me again, and explains, "I feel badly. It wasn't my intention to mislead her. She's really great."

"Then what's the problem?" I know I've only had a couple of drinks, but I think I'm missing something.

"Remus has a rule about women." _Rule? Okay, I'm interested. _I look at Remus for explanation and he concedes.

"It's not a rule so much as a guide to trouble-free living."

"What the hell does that mean?" I ask. He slowly rakes his hands through his hair, thinking. Lets out a big exhale. This is what I love about Remus. He's searching for the right words, trying to put something delicately, so as not to offend my female sensibilities. As if I didn't just tell him five minutes ago that I dry-humped some stranger at a bar to get information out of him.

"Remus?"

"Here's the thing, Tonks. Given my situation - "

"His monthly problem - " Sirius buts in.

"I think she knows of which situation I speak, Sirius." Sirius puts both hands up in acknowledgment, and then gestures for him to go on.

"A committed relationship is just not an option for me. I've never had one that didn't end badly. Love and lycanthropy just don't mix. So, over the years, I've developed this – _system_ - for avoiding a poor outcome for all concerned parties." _A 'poor outcome'?_ _Is he serious when he talks like this?_

"And that system is?"

"I keep things platonic with women in my life that I care about, and conduct, er, physical relationships with those who I'm not close with."

"Like a one-night-stand, or something?"

"Something like that, I suppose."

It seems Sirius can no longer refrain from jumping in again. "Moony will only sleep with women he either doesn't know, or knows well enough to determine they're not a risk."

"A risk?" I ask.

"A risk for actually feeling something for. He doesn't let women close to him."

Remus looks affronted now. "That's not fair, Sirius. I am close with many women."

"Ah, but not those you've slept with?"

Remus gives a little sideways nod of the head toward Sirius, apparently a concession of sorts. Still, this isn't adding up for me. Maybe it's the firewhiskey. Or maybe talking about Remus's love life interests me more than I thought it did. Anyway, now I'm curious, so I press a tad more.

"So let me get this straight, then? You're okay with physical intimacy, and close relationships with women are allowed, but not both at the same time?"

He sighs at the dead horse beating, but looks at me and answers my question anyway. "Yes, I suppose that's about the size of it."

"That's too bad, Remus." _I mean it, it is. What a waste_.

I look up and find him looking at me thoughtfully. He looks like he's about to say something more when Sirius busts in loudly.

"That's typical Moony, though, Tonks," he laughs, "protect your heart at all costs, that's his motto. Isn't it Moony?"

For a moment Remus looks a bit indignant, as if he might deny this charge, but then he must realize the futility of it. Here, in this house, we three relinquished many other secrets over the first few months we were here, usually on nights like this. Hiding anything has become challenging, and well – unnecessary. Instead, he sighs and says quietly, "It's not a bad strategy, though, you have to admit."

"If you say so, Moony." And with this, Sirius rises, and keens a bit before steadying himself. "Shite, had a bit too many tonight, I suppose. Still, not like I've got to be at the office early tomorrow, yeah? See you lot tomorrow. Oh, and Tonks?"

"Yeah?"

"The blue hair is nice, and the skirt is hot. What boots?"

"'Night, Sirius."

But I'm not ready to turn in yet. The fire is warm and it's comfortable here with Remus, especially without Sirius's goading. I reach for the Ogden's and pour myself another drink. Then I take off the offending boots and tuck my feet under me on the settee. Remus seems to settle more comfortably, too, as if he's planning to stay as well. I'm glad.

Then, he says quietly, "He thinks he's the only prisoner of this house, of the Order. But he's not." I'm not sure if he's talking about his own situation, or offering me sympathy. As for me, I'm not really feeling all that pitiable at the moment. I'm pretty good about where I am right now.

We just sit there for a few, enjoying the quiet without my cousin, when I break the silence. "So, Emmeline . . .?" _Just wondering._

"I told her I wasn't looking for a relationship. That I just wanted to be friends." He looks so bloody guilty at this admission.

I reach out and rub his arm with my hand, on top of which he immediately places his own warm one and gives a gentle squeeze. "You know, Remus. It's not your fault she's fallen for you. Really, what witch wouldn't?"

He turns his eyes to me with a look of gratitude, for the compliment I assume. He thinks I'm humoring him. _I'm not._


	4. Chapter Four: Eye Opener

Chapter Four – Eye Opener

"_Mobilicorpus_," I hear Scrimgeour mutter disgustedly, without as much as a warning or acknowledgement to me.

"No, stop! I'm fine!" I say, as he tries to levitate me onto the stretcher against my will.

"Shut up, Tonks! I've got enough to worry about here without having to baby-sit you. Now lie down like a good little girl so we can transport you to the medi-witch."

_Goddamn, this is so embarrassing. _Of course, I couldn't sustain a heroic injury at the hands of some dark wizard. I have to go and injure myself during routine training exercises. And four days before Christmas. _And_ on the first day in a month Scrimgeour drops by to observe, too. _Fuck, I can't believe my luck._

I can see three other Aurors chuckling as I hold onto the bench I'm sitting on in an attempt to prevent myself being lifted. An unsuccessful attempt. Soon I'm on the stretcher and being moved. Just as I accept my fate and lie back, I hear Scrimgeour lay into Kingsley.

"You told me this team was in top form! You've got Aurors down here who that can't even make it through basic drills without sustaining serious injury . . ."

_Serious injury? What?_ It can't be more than a sprain. Fell hard on my ankle after I overcompensated and pulled too hard out of an oncoming body-bind curse. He's acting like it's the end of the world to . . . _Oh, shite, that hurts. What the hell is that! _There's a searing pain in my side and all of a sudden I feel like I can't fill my lungs properly. Don't remember taking a hit to the side, though. Starting to feel a bit woozy now. _Oh, my God. _It's like someone's taking their sweet time about pulling a dull knife through my torso. _What the hell did I do _now

Before I am even fully awake, I know that more is going on with me than just a sprained ankle. I feel like I've been mauled by a chimaera, and my head is pounding to beat the band. Gingerly, I open my eyes and make out a familiar looking Y-shaped crack in the ceiling. _What am I doing in my own flat? _

"Molly, I think she's waking," comes a quiet, but recognizable voice.

I struggle to sit up, and feel his hands around mine, reassuring me. "Remus?" _Ow. Talking is bad. Must not talk._

Through blurry eyes, I see Molly rush over. "Try to lay still, dear. You've had quite a morning."

I settle back down, but look anxiously to Remus. "What the hell happened?"

"You injured your ankle, and you have a broken rib. Just a small break, actually, but the angle was odd. It almost pierced your lung – close call. The healer in Spell Damage wanted to keep you." He's still got my hand in between both of his, making small circles on my wrist.

"They took me all the way in to St. Mungo's?" I groan. I must be the laughingstock of the department, breaking a bloody rib during exercises.

Remus seems to read my thoughts, because he immediately offers, "Tonks, it wasn't your fault. The two aurors involved received written warnings. They were fooling about with unapproved spells and one went off the mark. Caught you from behind, I believe."

"Rogers and Anning?"

"Yes, that sounds right."

"Those tossers. They're always fucking around."

Molly clucks at my language, but Remus just smiles at me. "There, there. That's our little lady." I can't help but smile back, despite my feeling like complete shite.

"How did you get me out of St. Mungo's?"

Molly pipes in, flustered. "_We_ had nothing to do with it. To my mind, you should have stayed there and recovered properly. But Kingsley took it upon himself to get you released. Your parents were listed as emergency contacts, but he told the healers your folks they were out of town for Christmas, and that he'd be responsible for you. Hospital staff transported you, so they couldn't bring you to Grimmauld Place." _Good on you, Kingsley. _I feel like an arse for ever griping about him.

"Oh, thank Merlin. He knew I'd go spare if they contacted my parents. Mum has a tough time handling the physical part of my job. I owe him one. Makes up for his usually being a pain in my arse."

Remus only nods. "That's how he explained it to us as well. He sent a patronus for us to come. He couldn't stay – he's on duty for the Order tonight. So we came to take over. Or, well, Molly did. I just wanted to make sure you were okay." He makes to rise, but I won't release his hand.

"So, can we go to Number Twelve now, then?" My voice sounds a bit desperate, even to my own ears.

"You're not going anywhere, dear," Molly scoffs. "They sent you home with a potion to heal the rib and the bruise on your lung, but you need to be lying still for the next 24 hours. No more moving around." She's still affronted, presumably on my mother's behalf.

"Here, drink this. This one's just for the headache." And with a stern look, she turns and leaves my bedroom. Again, I look to Remus as I down the potion. He's actually chuckling now, because he too knows the wrath of Molly.

"She's already cleaned your kitchen and bathroom. When you're feeling better, I'm sure she'll have some domestic charms to brush up with you." He's laughing, but I'm not feeling the humor of the situation.

I clutch his hand possessively, and whisper, "Please, Remus, don't leave me alone with her. It will be even worse than my own mother. Can't you stay instead? I'd much rather it was you taking care of me."

His expression softens, but he shakes his head. "Tonks, Molly is much better suited for the job. Someone needs to help you change, and get you to the loo - "

"Ugh, no. I can't bear having Molly doing those things. She's sure to lecture me all night about lying to Mum. I'll go mad. Please, Remus. Stay with me. I will be forever in your debt. _Please_?"

He rolls his eyes, but I know I've got him. "A talented young auror, forever in my debt? I'm in no position to refuse an offer like that! Let me see what I can do." Only then do I release my death grip on his hand.

A few minutes later, he returns, followed by Molly, who rattles off about five hundred instructions to me. Then, she turns to Remus. "If you two need help, send word right away. Arthur and I will be back to the Burrow this weekend." Then she leaves us. Finally.

Remus plops himself down on the edge of my bed, even though there is a chair in the corner.

"Did you get all that?" I ask him, "Because you're in charge, you know."

"Yes, I think I've got it. But don't even consider being uncooperative or I'll call her right back." _Me? Uncooperative? Of course not._

"What did you tell her, anyway?"

"I just told her that she and Arthur should enjoy their night off. First one without Order business in awhile. She seemed to see the benefit in that."

"Oh. Good. They deserve a break." He nods.

We both just sit there for a few quiet moments, before he asks, "So how are you really feeling?"

"A bit better, I guess. The headache's already passing. I'm just sore now. Hurts like hell to sit up."

"Well, then don't. You should probably get some more sleep. In a bit it'll be time for another dose of the potion and then I'll make us something to eat." He then proceeds to tuck me in. He's actually _tucking me in_.

At the door, he says, "You gave us a bit of a scare today, Tonks. I'm glad you're alright." And indeed, he does look drained. He must have been worried. About me. I think I like that.

_This is the most relaxed I've been in ages_, I think, lying here on my favourite beach in a very comfortable lounge. It's late afternoon, so it's not too hot, but still my bones all feel comfortably warm and relaxed. Although my eyes are closed, it's easy to identify my surroundings; the distant crashing of the surf, children calling to one another. A gentle breeze brushes the hair from my brow. So slight I can hardly feel it. I could stay on this beach forever.

"_Tonks?" _I know that voice. _What are you doing here, at my beach?_

"Tonks?" says the voice again, so softly it's almost a whisper. My eyes flutter open now to see Remus, once again at my bedside. He is gently stroking the hair from my face, and he smiles when he sees me return to the waking world. "Are you hungry yet? I made us some stew."

I can't seem to find my voice, so I croak out, "You made stew? Out of what?_" I haven't been here in weeks. There's no food here._

"I just popped out to the market for a bit. Thought you'd need something when you woke up. I'm sorry to wake you even now, but it's late and you're overdue to take your potion. Molly'll have my head." Then, he slides his arm under my back and slowly pulls me up into a sitting position. He hands me the vial, but keeps his other arm in place to steady me.

"Oh. Thanks." The potion is loathsome, of course. And I must be pulling quite a face, because he's grimacing right along with me. He takes the vial back and proceeds to prop me up in the bed.

"Let's eat, then, shall we?" Remus's stew is not to be believed. He just knocked it up, like it was no big deal. Tender chunks of beef, carrots, and potatoes in a mouth-watering dark sauce. Guinness stew, he says. He also picked up some crusty bread, which I am shamelessly using to mop up every last tasty drop. Not very lady-like, I know, but I'm starving.

He helps me to the bathroom afterwards so I can 'freshen up,' and waits just outside for me in case I need help. Initially I scoff at this, but it is actually quite difficult to maneuver. The ache in my side prevents me from standing up completely straight, so I am leaning heavily on my one good foot. Still, I manage to clean my teeth, wash my face, and use the toilet without calling for backup. I am, however, exhausted by this series of events, and grateful for his assistance to get back to the bed. Molly said that I'd feel good as new tomorrow but it's hard to envision, given how I suffer at the moment.

As soon as I am back in bed, Remus throws me for another loop. "Tonks, I think we should try to apply that salve before it gets too late," he calls as he returns from the loo with a couple of clean towels. I'm so impressed that there are clean towels to be found here, that I don't completely process what he said at first.

"Sorry?"

"I was saying that we should get that balm on your injuries."

"What balm?"

"You really weren't paying attention to Molly at all, were you?" _Nope_.

"No. I told you that was your job," I say, with false penitence. He gives me that _what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you _look that I'm quite used to receiving from him by now, and proceeds to open a short, fat bell jar.

"So how should we do this? I need to put this all along your ribs where the bruise was, and on your ankle as well," he explains while rolling up his sleeves. _You've got to be kidding me._ Remus is going to be the one doing the applying? On me?

Must try not to appear as flummoxed as I feel. Why am I feeling flummoxed? It's just Remus.

"Er . . .I suppose if I were to lay on my stomach? Then I could just take this top off, rather than you trying to work around it?" I swear I just saw him swallow harder than necessary as he evaluates this suggestion. Is he nervous? Maybe he really doesn't want to do this, but is just trying to be gracious? _Shite._

"I'm sorry, Remus. Is this uncomfortable for you? I didn't know about this when I asked you to stay. Maybe I should have stuck with Molly - "

"No, no. Don't be silly. It's fine." He sits on the bed next to me once more and wraps both arms around my upper body to help me sit up. _Oh, my goodness._

Getting changed is going to be problematic, though. I can't exactly lift my arms over my head. Not my left one, anyway. "Sorry. I'm gonna need some help getting this off."

Nodding, he moves a bit down the bed, so he is positioned behind me. Then, he slips his hands under the hem of my shirt at my sides and begins to very gently lift the thin shirt over my head. I can feel the soft hair on his forearms against my bare skin and it makes me shiver. I'm holding my breath. Even though he's behind my back, I sneak a peek at him and observe that his head is turned away. It's lovely how desperately he's trying to be a gentleman. "Tell me when you're ready, Tonks."

It takes me a few laborious seconds to settle back down onto the mattress on my stomach. "All set, then," I say into the side of the pillow. I feel him lean forward to retrieve the jar from the bedside table. When he moves back toward me, however, I hear his sharp intake of breath. I jump instinctively, which is a mistake. "Ow!"_ Bugger. Sudden movements are not good._

"Oh, Tonks! I'm so sorry I startled you. It's just . . . well, you're _so_ bruised. I wasn't expecting . . ." Though I can't see his face, his voice is so full of distress, worry. And apparently he's forgotten about modesty, because his fingers are immediately touching my side, gently examining the injury without reservation. One of Remus's hands is flat on my back, and the other about two inches from my left breast, which unfortunately is tucked between me and the bed. _Unfortunately? _

And then before I can muse on it any longer, he starts applying the balm, and all rational thoughts are driven from my head. I was expecting it to smell foul, like every other remedy I've encountered in my long history of physical misfortunes. But it doesn't. It smells like oranges, and maybe sage, and it's warming my skin in the most remarkable way. Or maybe that's just his hands, but, _Oh my God._ He's got great hands.

I'm surprised at how pleasurable this process is while my body still feels like a bag of bones. But just as I'm thinking this, the balm seems to start taking effect. It feels like it's working its way straight into my body, spreading warmth in its path and leaving relaxation in its wake. And when the pain begins to lessen, I notice that I'm feeling sensations that don't have much to do with injuries. After all, I'm bruised, not dead. And this feels _amazing_.

Remus has actually slid down to his knees on the floor to position himself better for his task, and I can feel his warm breath on my side, in addition to the movement of his hands. Rather than just dabbing the salve onto the injured area with a finger or two, his technique is to rub it between his palms and then slide them over my skin – along my side, down to my hip, and across to my back. He has fairly large hands, and is covering a big area at once. Although I have no view of this activity, the vision in my head is quite . . . _engaging_, for lack of a better word.

I'm so glad I can pretend it's the fatigue that is causing me to lie here with my eyes closed and face partially hidden. Because I'm sure if I made eye contact with Remus I'd scare the shite out of him. The ideas that are running through my head at the moment wouldn't be tough to read on my face. Silently I begin to plead with the fates to make this procedure last for at least another hour, when it occurs to me that he's spent a lot longer on this than he probably needed to. Makes me wonder . . .

_Stop._ I try to think of something to say, to break the intimacy of the scene, and to distract myself from the sensations he's creating with those amazing hands. To keep myself from moaning like some tart.

Luckily, he relieves me of the burden of coming up with something, when he actually does stop. "Okay, I think I've covered this area well. Let's get you dressed so I can have a go at your ankle."

I point him to my closet to retrieve a clean top, and once again he helps me slide it over my head. Then he props me up on my pillows, and I think my heart momentarily stops as he takes my bare leg in his lap.

_What's wrong with me?_ Perhaps the potions are affecting my judgment? This is Remus. My _friend_. One of the few I have left, at that. Still, the way he touches me, looks at me. And the way _he_ looks: sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms with a soft sheen of light brown hair. The way one lock of hair drops forward into his eyes as he leans forward to concentrate on applying the remedy perfectly. Not missing a spot. He's dead sexy. Why have I never noticed any of this before?

I'm stealing little looks at him as he goes about his work, and pondering this, when an unknown ache takes up residence in my chest. Nothing like I've felt before and now truly I'm wondering . . . hell, I don't even _know_ what I'm thinking. And I'm sure he thinks of me the same way they all do. Clumsy, tomboy Tonks. Always good for a laugh; nice kid. And there's the matter of the virtual fortress he's built around himself.

_Oh, shite._ Didn't realize it, but he's looking at me. Quickly my mind races to come up with something to fill the verbal vacuum.

"I'm sorry for the state of my flat." _Better than nothing_.

"It's been a while since you've been here." I don't think he means this to be a question, but I nod anyway.

"I've just been in and out to collect some things. Haven't slept here."

I'm surprised at what he asks next. "Is it because being here reminds you of him?"

"Curtis, you mean?"

"Yes."

I think on this a bit before I answer. "I don't think so." He raises his eyebrows in question; a gesture that I assume means for me to continue, so I do. "I mean, yes - I guess at first it felt strange coming back after that whole . . . _thing_. It felt empty. I mean, I missed him. But, now, I don't know. Just doesn't feel like my space anymore. Does that make sense?"

"Perfect sense," he says quietly. "I haven't been home to my place very often since joining the Order, either." For some reason, this doesn't surprise me as much as it should. I mean, he certainly must have people near home he'd like to see, places to go. And yet, those people, places – they're tied to a past that doesn't really connect with our present situation. What's the point of stopping in to see an old friend when they'd only have questions you can't answer?

He's quiet. Thinking the same thoughts I am, no doubt. Understanding.

He's still spreading the balm around my ankle, down under my heel, and up under the arch of my foot. It's ticklish as hell, but I'll die before I flinch and give him reason to stop. I've had men touch me who were forceful, moving me about as if I were a rag doll. And I've had others who have put their hands on me as if I were made of porcelain, about to break at any moment - even more irritating than the rough ones, if you ask me.

But Remus fits into neither of these groups. His touch is painstakingly gentle. But I don't feel like he thinks I'm fragile. He lifts my foot and holds it with care, but also with confidence. Or _reverence_, I suppose is a better word. Not as if I'm crystal vase, but maybe a rare book. Something you'd handle with respect and admiration, but not hesitation.

It touches me, and I find that I want to touch him. If that is at all possible.

When he's done, he uses a towel to wipe off the balm and then slides my foot under the covers for me. _Again, with the tucking in._ Wasn't nearly this sexy when my dad used to do it.

Standing up, he bids me goodnight. My first thought is to object; it feels early to go to sleep. But it's no use. I can't deny that I'm still tired. The potion obviously must contain some type of tranquilizer.

Remus pauses at the door. "I'll just be out on the settee if you need to get up in the night. Do _not_ try to make your way to the washroom by yourself. The potion can't do its work if you exert yourself. Remember, that's why I stayed." And then, smiling, he teases, "Besides, I'll only have to get up anyway when you fall and break your other ankle." And with that, he's gone. Leaving me to drift off to sleep trying to mediate the growing debate between the two confused voices in my head.

When I come around once more, the sun seems pretty high in the sky. It must already be midmorning. For the third time in less than a day, I awake to a surprise. This time it's Remus, in my room, asleep in the chair in the corner. He looks terribly uncomfortable. Don't remember him coming back in.

Cautiously, I begin to stretch, expecting to be met with the searing pain in my upper body I negotiated all day yesterday. But it's not there. I tentatively finger my side and back, and feel only the normal muscles there, flexing and relaxing normally. I'm a bit stiff, to be sure, but by and large the pain itself is gone. Even my ankle seems fairly nimble, as I rotate it around. Feels as if I merely bruised it or something.

Just as I slide around to the side of the bed and place my feet on the floor, Remus wakes with a start. "Tonks! What are you doing?" I can't contain my wide smile at him.

"So_ stern, _Mr Lupin! I'm fine. _Really_. Potion seems to have worked wonderfully. I feel great. See?" I lift my arms up high over my head and do a little dance. He rolls his smiling eyes at me.

"I swear, Remus, you never used to roll your eyes this much."

"It's a gesture of surrender, Tonks. Sometimes, I just don't know what to make of you." What does _that_ mean?

"What were you doing in here, anyway?" Can't resist asking.

He stammers a bit. "I, er - I was afraid I wouldn't hear you. So I kipped in here, you know, just in case." He looks a bit embarrassed, so I don't pursue it. Instead, I busy myself with cleaning up all the towels, medicines and assorted junk on my night table. Remus moves to help with this task and generally just takes over.

He bends down to retrieve something from the floor, and his head is level with my waist. He's so close to me that I can see every strand of grey in his soft brown hair. Is it as soft as it looks? I would love to find out. For a moment, I wrestle the impulse to reach out and tangle my hands in it; to draw his head the remaining few inches to my abdomen. Distracted by this pleasant thought, I am slow to realize that he's rising back up and is looking at me. When I finally do meet his eyes, I'm surprised at what I find there.

The way he looks down at me; his thoughts are unmistakable. Something is changing between us, I'm sure of it. Something unnamable.

_-Tap-tap-tap-_

"Oh!"

I feel like a right idiot, as I have actually physically _jumped_, calling great attention to the fact that I was previously mesmerized. _It's just an owl. _

As Remus opens the window, I try to regain some composure by turning to make my bed.

Then I hear him mutter, "Oh, God, no - "

"Remus?"

"It's Arthur. He's been attacked."

_Oh, no._ "Is he alright? I thought he was off duty last night!"

"So did I. All it says is that he's at St. Mungo's, but you and I have different orders. Dumbledore wants me to come to him, and you are to return to Headquarters right away."

"I'll get my things."

"I'll help."

I throw on clothes while he packs up my bag. He looks at me, concerned. "Feel alright to apparate?"

"Yeah. Really, I feel fine."

He nods. "Let's go."


	5. Chapter Five: No Going Back

It seems my friend Remus Lupin has a stubborn streak.

We had specific orders to report to two different places, and yet he insisted on delivering me personally here to Number Twelve before reporting to Dumbledore.

Of course I objected. "Side-along is hardly necessary. I'm not a child, Remus!"

He only said quietly, "Trust me, Tonks. I'm quite aware of that."

Pondering the meaning of this rendered me speechless, which is rare. He, too, recognized his opening and grabbed me tight, immediately apparating before I could protest.

"Goddamnit, Remus, let go of me!" I am fairly shouting now, as Sirius's face comes into view. Were he not so bloody exhausted, I think he would be amused at us. Instead, he holds a finger to his lips. I'm being shushed by Sirius? _Now there's something you don't see every day. _

"The kids are all still sleeping," he says. "We were up all night. Tonks, you okay?"

"She's fine now, Sirius. The rib is completely healed. She'll just be sore for a day or two. Few bruises, maybe." Normally I would be infuriated at someone answering questions on my behalf. But somehow it doesn't bother me so much when Remus does it.

It's also nice to not have to think at the moment, as my brain is scrambling to make sense of about a million and one other questions. My mind is reeling. I still don't know much about the circumstances surrounding Arthur's attack. The . . . _weirdness_ . . . of last night has me feeling a bit bewildered. It's been a confusing 24 hours and I haven't quite wrapped my head around it all yet. Looking at Remus now, back here in familiar surroundings, things should be back to normal. But they're not. Something's different. He's not meeting my eyes, and . . .

Wait, one of them just asked me something. "What?" I say. Not even sure who I'm directing that to. But Sirius is smirking; caught me staring at Remus. _Shite_.

Remus hasn't noticed anything, or pretends not to have. "No matter. I'd best be off straight away. Dumbledore's waiting. See you both later." And just like that, he's gone again, leaving Sirius and me standing there in awkward silence.

For one brief moment, I think Sirius is going to start in. Ribbing, teasing, interrogating, something along those lines. But he surprises me with a gentle hug. I must look worse than I feel. "We were worried about you. Dangerous line of work you've gotten yourself into."

"Yeah, yeah . . ." is all I can come up with, as I head for the kitchen. I'm starving.

"Moony took good care of you, then?" Sirius is studying me.

"Of course," I say, in way that I hope sounds indifferent. "You know Remus."

This elicits a broader, knowing smile. I really _am_ shite at stealth. "Sure, I know Remus."

"What?" I ask defensively, although I know full well what he's on about. It would be much easier to appear affronted if he weren't so annoyingly observant.

"Nothing, nothing," he says. But his cocky smile translates the 'nothing' to 'something.'

Just then, Harry comes through one door of the kitchen, looking like complete _shite_. _What the hell happened last night?_

But I have no time to greet him, as Moody comes busting through the other entrance and addresses me straight away. "Tonks, you and I will be escorting Molly and the kids over to St. Mungo's after lunch. I'll need to brief you on last night's events before we go. Join me in the library?" Not a request.

I nod and rise to follow. So much for lunch.

The moon is high in the sky by the time we all reenter the front hall at Grimmauld Place late that evening.

"Thank you again, Tonks, for all your help" says Molly, in a louder-than-necessary voice, as Sirius comes to greet the kids and help collect cloaks. But then she steers me to the side and whispers, "Are you still sore, dear? I haven't had a chance to ask how you're feeling, what with the day we've had." I love that Molly keeps my injury between us, even though I never asked her to. I guess I really haven't given her enough credit.

"Not to worry, Molly. The potion really was amazing, just like you said. Couldn't believe it - I was good as new this morning." She smiles, and heads, of course, to the kitchen to start dinner.

I join the others in the parlour, and am surprised to find that Kingsley and Remus are here, as well. I nod my greeting to everyone and take the only empty seat, on the settee next to Ginny, who is chattering away about something. The group is in better spirits this evening, having seen with their own eyes that their dad is on the mend. Although apparently Harry has retreated to his bedroom. Sirius reckons he's exhausted, but after talking with him on the train, my guess it that he's still a bit freaked out. I know I am. Still, it's good to see the Weasley kids laugh and joke with Sirius and each other.

Somehow, though, I'm not really tuned in to it.

Remus still seems reluctant to look at me, and I am starting to be a bit worried that I've done something to offend him. Did I only imagine the tension between us last night? Maybe I was high from the potion and he was just being patient with me and my overactive imagination. _What have I done?_ I almost kissed him. Thank _Merlin_ that owl showed up when it did or I surely would have had to endure the "you're a sweet girl, but . . ." speech.

Clearly I need to put things right. I can't have him uncomfortable around me. I need, really _need_, for things to be the same between us. His friendship, along with Sirius's, has been the only thing keeping me sane the last few months and I can't do without them.

When everyone is called to dinner, I muster up my courage and begin to head over to the side of the room where Kingsley and Remus are sitting. To my tremendous relief, Remus approaches me first, a tired smile on his face. "Staying for dinner?"

"No, I think not tonight. Best to clear out and let the Weasleys settle in."

He nods in agreement. "Kingsley and I were just saying the same thing. Care to join us at the Leaky for a bite instead?" I'm so relieved at how casually he asks that I could cry.

I feel guilty leaving Sirius, but as I glance over and hear him inquiring with Ron about Harry, I realize that I could be standing here naked and he wouldn't notice. Sirius will have Harry in the house for the holidays now. Another reason to get out of the way for awhile. Remus is watching them as well, and he turns back to me to share the smile.

"Bit of a crowded house, here. In a good way, I think."

"I agree."

-------------------

Later, after a hearty meal and far too many drinks at the Leaky Cauldron, we have all brought each other up to speed on what we know about Arthur's attack and Dumbledore's plans for going forward. We've chosen a small table in a far corner, but we're still speaking in hushed tones.

"Continuing to guard it is not going to be enough," Kingsley concludes. "It's not effective and it's just too dangerous. Dumbledore's got to come up with another plan."

Remus shakes his head in frustration. "But surely he can't be considering suspending the guard duty? He'll leave it wide open."

Kingsley just shrugs. "He could double us up for guard duty, for added safety. But I don't see how our numbers will allow for that. We're still too few. And, besides, working in pairs will make us too recognizable to the D.E."

Remus shoots Kingsley a look that I'm not supposed to be privy to. But hell, I'm _right here_. I'm not blind.

"What?" I press.

I feel sure Remus will answer me, but Kingsley speaks first. "When we travel in groups, or even pairs, they'll know we're on Order business."

"How's that?"

"Dumbledore suspects they have identified most of our membership."

"What!"

"Shhhhh . . ." They urge in unison.

"Sorry," I whisper. "Shite, though - why hasn't he told us this? We're _all_ targets now."

Finally, Remus speaks. "He's planning to, at the meeting after Christmas. Didn't want to ruin anyone's holidays by informing them they're wearing a bulls eye, I suppose." He attempts a sarcastic chuckle, but doesn't quite pull it off.

None of us speaks for a minute as I consider this information. Finally, Kingsley turns to Remus. "It's getting late, and I really need to get on. Did you still want me to help you with those wards on your room?"

"Room?" I say, completely confused.

Remus looks surprised by my question. "Er . . . I took a room here. The house is so crowded with everyone there for the holidays." _Oh. Right._ I am probably expected to clear out as well. I didn't even realize it.

"There are a lot of rooms," I say.

"Yes, but there are also a great many Weasleys to fill them," he says with a smile. "Molly's got enough on her plate. Don't worry about me. I could go home, but I felt it would be easier to be nearby. Told Sirius I'd pick up Harry's gift here in Diagon, and I'm escorting the family to the hospital in a couple of ..."

"_ahem_ - " We seem to have forgotten that Kingsley is waiting on Remus.

"Oh, yes. Thanks, Kingsley," says Remus, backing up his chair. "I'd appreciate your help. Better safe than sorry."

"Wait - " I start. They both look at me like I've got two heads. "You should go on home, Kingsley. You've been up for two days. I can help Remus with the wards. Besides, I _do_ owe you a favor." Kingsley doesn't need telling twice. I can tell he's exhausted.

Remus checks in with Tom while I use the loo, and then we head up to the top floor, where there is only one small attic room. It's tiny, but warm and actually has a pretty view of a snowy Diagon Alley. _Didn't realize it had started snowing . . ._

Since joining the Order, Dumbledore has required us all to cast protective wards on our homes. Creating a ward involves casting a stealth sensoring spell near all entrances and windows, while simultaneously performing a complex repelling spell on the premises themselves. Only the most accomplished wizards can achieve this single-handedly, using wandless magic for one spell, while reciting the incantation for the other. For most of us it requires a two-person effort. Still, we're done in about five minutes, without having to stop once to start over – something that has happened every time I've done this with anyone else. Remus and I work well together, it seems.

"So . . ." he begins, awkwardly. "Thanks, again. For helping me with this."

I realize something, then. "You could have done it by yourself, couldn't you?"

He grins, modestly. Caught. "Yes," he admits. "But Kingsley offered and, well . . ."

"You didn't want to show up an Auror." _That's so Remus._

He just shrugs. "He's got enough on his mind. As do we all." _Right_. That new piece of information. I don't want to think on it too much, as it has rattled me more than I think it should. I'm an Auror, for Christ's sake.

"You reckon Harry's all right?" I inquire, mostly to distract myself from my spiraling doubts. "Didn't see him come down to dinner."

"Honestly, I don't know. Sirius said he was pretty shaken this morning."

"Well, of _course_ he's shaken. He witnessed a murder attempt. And he has no clue what the hell's going on in his head. You should have heard him on the train, Remus. He's so confused. He's certain this is his fault. . ." I trail off, and am mortified to realize there are tears in my eyes. Normally, I'm not much of a crier, but the full measure of physical exhaustion and emotional upheaval of the last couple of days is finally beginning to overwhelm me. And I'm monumentally embarrassed. Remus is the last person I want to see me fall apart.

Instinctively, I turn away to hide my face, but he pulls me back round. "Tonks? What is this about? This isn't you. You know Dumbledore's got a plan for what's happening with Harry. Has something made you question that?"

"No." _Yes_. "Yes. I don't know. I mean, I'm just worried in general. They know our _ranks_, Remus. We're not recruiting at the pace we anticipated. The Ministry is imploding. Arthur was a sitting duck there last night. I'm worried about who it'll be next time. Hell, Remus, that could have been me. Or you."

He just looks at me. Waiting for the rest. It's really no use holding back. He can see right through me. Sighing, I plunk myself down on the edge of the one small chair in the room. Remus follows suit and sits down on the bed, still silent.

"I don't really know what's going on with me. When I joined the Order, I knew it was dangerous, but it just seemed so _abstract_. I believed – believe – so much in what we doing and I thought I understood the risks. Like at my job. I've never really been all that emotionally invested in my work at the department, so it's been a hell of a lot easier to swallow setbacks, others' injuries. But now . . ."

He's listening raptly. Leaning forward. "Now?" A single tear escapes and rolls down my cheek, and I feel too exposed. I lower my head and examine my hands as if I've never seen them before. But I need to finish. Need to get all this doubt and fear _out_ from where it festers. And really, Remus is the logical choice.

Trying like hell to keep my voice even, I quietly try to explain.

"It's different now. That's all. All of a sudden, death seems to be around every corner. You can almost feel the fear and anger settling in like some bloody disease. Is it me? Or are things getting worse, not better?"

"Tonks . . ."

"Remus, the Order has become my home, my family. I'm having a hard time being objective. The idea of losing . . . any of you . . . it's getting to me." After a loud and quite unattractive sniff, I look up to find that Remus is kneeling now, in front of me.

"Okay," is all he says. It's not a question because he knows it's not okay. He can't tell me everything will be fine, and somehow it's more reassuring that he doesn't try. Honest. He respects me enough not to bullshit me with meaningless platitudes. This is why I trust him as I do. _His eyes are so kind . . . _

Without hurry, he takes my hand and presses it to his cheek, never taking his eyes from mine. Then, all of a sudden, what I see there surprises me. The way he's looking at me . . . it's not sympathy, not consolation. I've never seen him look so, well, _vulnerable_ before, and somehow it's thrilling and unsettling in equal measure.

He refuses to break his gaze, as do I, and as a result I am quite literally hypnotized. I'm not sure whether he's waiting for some response from me or not, but I'm incapable of making any movement, and actual speech is entirely out of the question. So I just stare at him, hoping beyond hope that he won't pull away from me.

Thankfully, he doesn't misinterpret my stupor as repulsion, because he slowly takes my hand from his cheek and very gently moves it to his beautiful lips. I watch, transfixed, as he allows his eyes to gradually close, and then bestows on my palm the most perfect little kiss imaginable. Gentle, and almost passable as platonic except for the fact that he allows himself - just barely - to taste the skin there. It such a small thing, but the raw intimacy of it almost makes my heart stop.

Stealing the briefest opportunity to observe him while his eyes are still closed, I am amazed at this man before me. No one else in the world has ever so easily been able to calm me, set me at ease in one moment, and in the next, turns my insides into a warm puddle.

The way he holds himself, still guarded, reveals his internal struggle with this new discovery we're making, this previously uncharted ground in our friendship. _Relationship?_ Unbidden, an image is called to my mind of a house of cards. I feel like every move, every sigh, every breath I take could influence the way this goes. Could send the whole delicate balance into a tailspin. It feels that tenuous. He is that cautious. I know him too well.

So I keep quiet. Try my best to disguise my wildly beating heart. But when he looks at me again…

_Oh, my._ The look in his amber eyes seems to see right through me.

Instinctively I look away, turn my head – almost shyly – to the side. To hide, I guess. He takes the opportunity to lean in and touch his lips to my cheek. Is he still just comforting me? It begins as very chaste, really, but then his mouth lingers there for a moment. My body is responding to what I think, hope, is happening. _Don't move, Nymph. Don't move._

I don't even realize I'm holding my breath until I audibly exhale, inwardly cursing my selfish need to breathe, and shuddering in a small way as I do. A raw ache sneaks into my chest and takes up residence there, making me dizzy enough that I physically need to lean forward a bit and rest my forehead on his shoulder.

Struck by the need to pull back and see him, still not trusting my own perception of what's happening here, I raise my head and meet his eyes. I think I'm going to pass out.

We stare at each other for what feels like forever, but is probably only a few seconds. Frozen. Desperately, I try to read him, see what he's thinking, feeling. To determine if it's remotely similar to what's happening in my head, my body. Clearly we're both attempting to choose a path from the many that lay in front of us.

Just as I am sure he's about to pull away, to explain it all away in that damn sensible way of his . . . everything changes.

He leans forward, closing the few inches between us and lightly brushing his lips against mine. Testing the waters. It's quick, yet he doesn't pull back afterwards. He just stays there, his lips still almost touching mine, until I lose all patience and lean in again, making the decision for us.

He groans quietly as he allows himself this, and raises his hands to cup my face. Although I can barely take stock of what's happening, I do manage to notice that his lips are amazingly soft as they part slightly over mine. The kiss is soft and firm and just right. And somehow _familiar_, which is plain mad, since this is all so new. It's over far too quickly, but then he pulls me into a tight embrace that has us _clinging_ to each other, a bit overcome with the turn of events.

"This is probably a bad idea," he murmurs against my neck, but his breathlessness gives him away.

I should say something, contribute to the decision-making process he still seems to think we're involved in. But for some reason my voice doesn't seem to be working properly. Instead, I press more tightly to him and finally take the deep breath I've been denying myself.

The oxygen helps matters, because I'm suddenly struck with the appreciation of this rare opportunity that's kneeling in front of me in the form of Remus Lupin. And more, the awareness of my newly-formulated goal of _not letting it pass me by_.

I slide my hands up his back over his shoulder blades _… he's so bloody warm_ …and into the soft hair at his nape. Because I can't resist. Because I'm nearly dying with _not_ doing it. And, oh, it's as smooth as I imagined it would be.

When he pulls back to face me once again, I initiate a proper kiss, opening my mouth to tentatively explore his. He meets me halfway, and I can barely quell the moan that forms, or the spreading heat that is beginning to dominate my body. When we eventually break apart, Remus resumes his place at my neck, but with a noticeably different pace, ravishing it with warm wet attention. Affectionately nipping the skin just below my ear, he traces a path there. His warm breath follows and it makes me shiver.

It's best, I think, to pretend that this is some sort of casual thing, right? He knows I've had physical relationships with male friends before. Just for fun, or just for comfort. It's been the topic of many light-night, firewhiskey-encouraged discussions at the kitchen table with Sirius. So he probably assumes that's what I have in mind. And he'd be more comfortable with that, right?

Right now I'm perfectly content to let him file this _encounter_ away in whatever neat little corner of his mind that he needs to, as long as he keeps doing that thing to my ear, thank you very much. _Merlin, who knew?_

I thought snogging Remus would be gentle. Affectionate. Maybe even comfortable. _Gods, did I think that?_ _I did._ But the way he's touching me now is making me feel anything but calm. He's taking it slow, to be sure, but he's also slowly driving me mad. His fingertips barely graze the collar of my shirt as he peppers kisses back down my neck and dips the very tip of his tongue into the hollow of my throat. His touch is gentle, but experienced, and, truth be told, a bit too leisurely for my liking.

But all I can do is clutch to the back of his neck and hope he doesn't stop. Every touch is like a lightening bolt of pleasure that shoots through me from the pit of my abdomen down to the tips of my toes.

To my momentary horror, a throaty moan finally escapes me. But it doesn't seem to dissuade him. He stands, offers me his hands, palms outstretched. I take them (_who the hell wouldn't?_) and rise slowly to my feet, albeit rather unsteadily. But I am too aroused now, to let this slow things down. I don't hesitate for a second before I move up swiftly for another searing kiss, desperate to feel the warmth of his mouth once again. Sure enough, he opens it readily to the kiss, and the warm slide of our tongues is enough to turn my knees to jelly.

Since my ability to stand is deserting me, I lean heavily into his welcoming arms. This offers me my first concrete evidence of his state of arousal, as I can feel him through his trousers against my hip. I'm not sure, though, if that's an admission he's willing to make at this point. _God, he feels so good._

Somehow this gives me the confidence to slowly begin easing us backward toward the bed, pulling him down with me. Initially, he eases himself up on the bed with me as we continue the heated kiss. But as I slowly move my thighs to give him room to settle, and our momentum shifts, he seems to wrestle with the notion of his weight on mine, of being the one in control. The cycle we've established is maddening. He's so sure and polished one minute, and holding back the next. It's obvious he's no timid lover when he puts himself to the task, but he won't let himself take that final plunge now.

_Well, the hell with this. Everyone in this room is thinking **too fucking much**._

Throwing caution to the wind, I roll over on top of him without breaking our kiss and settle atop him. I feel, rather than hear, his small gasp, but despite his surprise the new position spurs him on. His hands splay across my back, urging me closer to him, and I can't resist the need to grind against him.

"Oh,_ God_," he breathes, instinctively moving his hands from my back down to my arse as he relishes the feeling of my heat bearing down on his erection. The feel of his warm hands through my thin trousers is fantastic. As I break our kiss to assault his neck, I am rewarded by a soft growl, and it makes me feel powerful to elicit such a response from a wizard like Remus.

Slowly his hands are finding their way up under my jumper, tracing circles on my back, sliding his palms across my sides the way he did last night. As he moves those incredible fingers in between our bodies to just under my breasts, I lose my concentration and raise my head to look at him once again. Seeing the question in his eyes, I nod quickly, before either of us changes our minds, and he tugs at the hem of my jumper to bring it slowly up and over my head. After it's discarded, he leans back on his elbows and just looks at me - first, into my eyes and then down to my body.

"You are so beautiful, Tonks."

I imagine my eyes must have widened at his compliment because he's actually taken aback my reaction. He almost laughs as he pronounces, "You actually have no idea how bloody attractive you are without morphing."

My heart may burst out of my chest. Not so much at the compliment itself, but at the realization that it brings. It's a biased opinion he gives. He feels something for me. And now I know it. I can't help but beam. Really _beam_ at him like an idiot. And for the first time since we started this, the mood is a bit lighter. The tension, lessened.

He sits up, me still in his lap, and cups my cheeks with both hands. For a moment, I prepare to meet his kiss, but he shocks me by giving me a devious grin and then dipping his head instead. Lowering his mouth to my breast, he drags his tongue across one nipple with agonizing slowness. _I'm going to pass out. _

Somewhat desperately, I scramble to get my hands under his shirt, running my hands up his bare back to find something to hold onto. To keep myself from falling over. Mercifully, he lowers me to the bed as he continues to lavish attention on my chest and belly. Lying here, blissfully lost in his ministrations, I realize that never in a million years would I have imagined myself half starkers in the dingy attic room at the Leaky, wrapping my entire body around Remus and being completely aroused by the roughness of the faded scars that play across his back. I am _aching_ to feel more of him. So much so that I am fairly whimpering now, which is slightly disconcerting, as I can't remember a time when I've ever _whimpered_ before – in bed or otherwise.

How can we not have realized how desperately we needed this? Is it strange that I'm not embarrassed? I'm rubbing against him like a complete tart and I'm way past caring. The scope of what I feel for this man is overwhelming; my need to see this through is all consuming. All at once, I'm struck with the revelation that as much as I want this, it could also be really good for him. No, _I_ could be really good for him. I've been wanted before, but have I been needed? Doesn't he realize I'm his for the taking?

Words materialize on my tongue, ready to be spoken, telling him exactly how I feel. But I can't. Any confession might derail him and that possibility just can't compete with the sensations of his warm mouth surrounding my nipple, his rough chin grazing my flesh. I grab his head and guide him back to my mouth, to prevent myself from accidentally expressing what I'm feeling.

Remus takes the opportunity to slide his hands up the insides of my thighs, coming unbearably close to where I'd like him to touch me. I feel his hand on the waist of my trousers, and in one smooth motion, he pulls them down to my knees, and then off completely. I don't even realize my knickers have slid off with them until I feel hands return to my now bare bottom. It's too much to take. Like the tart I apparently am, I shift my legs apart just a bit, hoping he'll understand my desire for him to continue his path. He does. _Oh my God._

When he cups one warm hand against me the sensation is almost enough to send me over the edge. Then he slips one, two fingers inside me, and finally I cry out, all reason completely driven from my brain.

Unable to show any further restraint, I slide my hands down between us to his abdomen, where I begin to work the buttons on his trousers. Unfortunately, this seems to raise some sort of alert for him. I swear I almost sob in protest as he withdraws his kiss and stills my hand at his waist. We are both breathing erratically.

"Tonks, we shouldn't be doing this."

"I disagree," I counter, leaning back up to recapture his lips. He pulls away slightly as if to resume his objections, so I assault his ear with my tongue instead. He groans, and I can actually feel his resistance waning. His hold on my hand loosens. I can feel his erection leap against his trousers.

"Please," he says in a strangled way, "I'm in no position to refuse you."

As I stroke his arousal through his clothing, I whisper, "Then don't make me ask."

Remus growls again, instinctively pressing himself into my hand. "You don't know what you do to me, Tonks. . . I'm in over my head. You've been driving me to distraction for months," he murmurs against my mouth. I can't contain my smile and I pray it doesn't look like gloating. He bites my lip, his hands grasping my hips.

I thread my hands into his hair, and I implore him, "Please, Remus."

"Apparently my judgment is … _impaired_ when it comes to you," he says.

Laughing, I pull him into another bruising kiss, while I work quickly to rid him of his trousers. Once I've freed him from his clothing, I can't keep my hands off him. Right away I wrap one hand around the length of him and he shudders. It's bloody fantastic.

Taking a deep breath, he looks into my eyes, and leans in for a soft, chaste kiss on my cheek. Mysteriously, it's the most erotic thing he's so far. And just as I ponder this, he quickly slides inside me, filling me completely with warmth and strength, and making me gasp with surprise – and pleasure. Automatically, I arch against him, willing him to move. Leaning heavily on one elbow, he slowly, maddeningly begins to rock his hips against mine . . . thrusting . . . whispering unintelligible words into my ear, and caressing every part of my body he can reach.

I can't help but allow my eyes to flutter shut, enjoying the sweet contradiction of the softness and the friction between our bodies. It's the most amazing thing I've ever experienced. He touches me like no one's ever done before. In a way I'll never, ever forget. Bold and erotic, but inexplicably still tender and loving. It feels so bloody right and so strong that I hold nothing back anymore. For some reason, my voice is hoarse and low, and I'm surprised at myself when I realize that I'm begging.

And after that it's like he can no longer tolerate the space between us. Rather than press his hips down into mine, he grips my arse more firmly and pulls my body up into his arousal, sliding his large hands between the mattress and my arse. He doesn't realize his strength, and it's almost rough the way he lifts me to him like a rag doll. Incredibly, it makes me feel adored. I love seeing him like this: guard down, control gone, surrendering to instinct. He's beautiful.

Dizziness overtakes me, bringing me closer and closer to release. I know that when I finally let go, I'll be lost – both physically and emotionally. There will be no going back to what was before. Not for me. Through the amazing heat and depth of kissing him, making love to him, a mad thought comes to me: borrowed room, borrowed time. Whatever this moment represents, it might slip from us if we're not careful; the thought is wrenching. Once again I close my eyes to mask the wetness forming there.

"Tonks?" I hear him murmur, beckoning me back. _But_ _I can't think now. Can only feel. _

"Tonks, open your eyes," he whispers shakily into the breath we're sharing. "Be here withme."

My eyes leap open at the raw emotion behind this request. I muster all my strength to focus only on him as we lock our gazes and stay like that. He rests his forehead against mine, and I feel myself slipping away. _I can't hold on much longer . . . _

"Remus, I can't hold on much longer . . ."

His grip tightens on my waist as he pulls back and drives deep into me.

"Yes, love, now, _now_…" he mutters. I wrap my legs around him, as I feel him begin to shudder. He explodes into me, pulling me over the edge with him as I gasp his name over and over…

_And then I am lost._

Sometime later, as I reluctantly begin my descent back to reality, I feel him move to roll away. But I'm not having it.

"Don't you dare, Remus."

My bossiness is rewarded with his conspiratorial smile as he complies and comes back in close to wrap himself around me once more. Only then do I start to drift off again.


	6. Chapter Six: Tenterhooks

When you've been without it for awhile, waking up with someone next to you is quite a treat. Especially when it's someone as lovely as the man behind me. Before I even open my eyes, I can feel the comforting heat that is Remus along the whole length of my back, and instinctively I inch backwards into him. I don't realize he's also awake until I feel his long fingers slide up the length of my arm, leaving yummy warmth in their path.

"Mmmm…" is about all I can manage, as I stretch like a cat. It's early; _too_ early. Not even completely light yet. I'm exhausted, but I feel more content than I have in long time. Rolling over to face him, I snuggle back under the blankets and weave my arms and legs back into his. Burrow my head into the soft hair on his chest. Heaven. This room is cold now that the fire's died.

Disheveled is a look that suits Remus; you wouldn't think that, I know. But he looks so damn good as he considers me through his sleepy eyes and mussed up hair. And when he mumbles, "…hullo…" in a croaky morning voice, and plants a kiss on the top of my head, I think he's heartbreakingly handsome. In fact, I feel all gooey, like some silly teenager.

So it's no surprise that I find myself impulsively curving into him, wanting to be even closer. In what I hope is a subtle way, I slide my palm across his bare hip and then lower, bringing it to rest on his bum. My head still against his chest, I feel, rather than hear, a long low growl come from the depths of him. _Okay, so maybe I wasn't so subtle_.

But before I can do anything else shameless, the way he seems to inspire me to behave, he bends down and meets my lips with his own. And, oh… it's amazing, the way he makes me feel. His lips cover mine in a way that's both gentle and strong, possessive yet admiring. All at once I feel a bit dizzy and thankful that I'm already lying down.

I could kiss him all morning. You know, I'm _planning_ to kiss him all morning. I shift up on one elbow, raising myself above him without breaking the kiss. His large hands grasp my hips they way did last night and I feel a shiver all the way down my spine. But just as I begin to move above him, something shifts unexpectedly. There is suddenly hesitation. I sense it even before he stops kissing me. And then he does stop kissing me, albeit reluctantly. Which is something, I suppose.

"What is it?" I ask.

He raises one long finger and traces my lower lip as he speaks. "Tonks, this is … fantastic. I can't even wrap my head around how wonderful you feel." As if demonstrating his point, I notice that his other hand hasn't stopped traveling along the length of my hip and thigh. "But … I think perhaps we should talk about what happened here last night. What's happening here _now_. Before we get carried away again."

_Here we go. Damn, I knew it. _

"Oh, bugger" I complain, rolling back onto my back in a huff. I don't even attempt to hide my dissatisfaction.

He grins at my impatience, even though nervous apprehension is emanating from him unmistakably. I can see where this is going, and I curse myself inwardly for expecting anything different. I knew even last night that he'd just end up retreating again. I bloody well _knew_ he'd never let himself get away with actual enjoyment. _Shite._

As I watch him retrieve his wand and relight the fire, the auror in my head clicks into action. I begin to assess the situation and size up my next move. The reality is, I felt things for Remus last night that went way beyond the boundaries of friendship. Things that I'm not willing to fully define, even to myself. And the kicker is, I'm pretty sure he did, too. But it's clear that the line we crossed has him about to run for the hills.

The bottom line is that I can't risk him pushing me away entirely. I've seen the way he skirts Emmeline at Order meetings lately; if I were to be relegated to that category in his life, I would die. Beyond all else, I need the security he offers me as a friend. He and Sirius and I, we have become a … a _unit_ of some sort. And the connection we've established grounds me – it is perhaps the _only_ thing that is grounding me right now.

I have but one option here, one move open to me if I want to hold onto whatever closeness we've achieved. Even if it's not exactly what I was hoping for, it's still better than nothing.

And that option is to lighten things up considerably.

"Hell, Remus. Can't you let a girl enjoy the afterglow before you get all serious?"

"Tonks, I just want us to keep being honest with each other. You know how important you are to me. This … _situation_ … could be… the last thing I want is…"

"Good Lord, Remus, Is this the talk you had with Emmeline last month?"

He winces, and says quietly, "I never slept with her. You know that. But, yes, it went something like this."

"Remus, relax. I don't expect anything from you. You've made me no promises and I know I was upset last night but …well, I still knew exactly what I was doing."

"Still, I shouldn't have …"

I can't help but laugh out loud. "_You_ shouldn't have? Remus, were you here? I seem to recall some rather aggressive persuasion on my part."

He chuckles with me, adding, "_Persuasion_? Surely you mean _begging_." He dodges my playful smack and buries his face in my neck, and I relish the renewed closeness. Still, I feel cautious about how to proceed.

"Remus." He pulls back and looks at me skeptically, waiting for me to continue. "I'm only going to say this once. Whether or not we're shagging, were _friends_ first. I can't do without our friendship."

"You'll _never_ be without that." In spite of himself, he reaches up and touches my cheek. I'm not entirely sure what we just settled, and what the rules are now between us, but before I lose my nerve I lean forward and press my lips to his cheek. Inhaling deeply, I try to imprint the feel and smell of him on my memory, since there's still a lingering possibility that this is the closest he might let me get from now on.

And then I risk it. I need to know.

He's watching me, and it seems he's waiting for me to do something. So I do. I look him in the eyes, and lean forward once again to recapture his lips. And, thank Merlin, he responds readily.

The groan that escapes his lips is unbelievably tempting. And it's incredibly satisfying, after all these months, to have clear evidence of his desire when only yesterday his feelings were a complete mystery. It's such a turn-on to feel how much he wants me too.

"Can we do this?" he asks me quietly, leaning back just a bit to meet my eyes. I don't think he's just talking about this morning. At least I hope he's not. It seems he's asking two questions. So I give him two answers.

"We can do whatever you want," I offer, with a duplicity that mirrors his. I want so much more with him... and I feel like I could be really good at making him happy somehow, but how can I possibly convey that without bringing any more pressure to the table? Let him guide the process, that's how. _Which is fine by me, _I think, as he finally takes command and pulls me on top of him.

I can feel his body responding, and he kisses me more deeply than he has so far this morning, sliding both of his hands all the way down my back, over my arse, until he reaches the very top of the back of my thighs. Precariously close to source of the ever-increasing ache I'm feeling, but not close enough.

Pausing between kisses he mutters, "I'm sorry if I've made things awkward. I don't want to give you the impression that I regret - "

Rolling my eyes at his need to be so damn considerate, I put two fingers to his lips. "Shut it, Remus. I don't want you to apologize to me anymore."

"Really?" he asks, with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. And then he surprises me by grasping the undersides of my thighs and pulling them apart, which serves to pull our hips and pelvises into close contact. "What _do_ you want me to do to you?" _Aha_. _Now we're getting somewhere._

He is smirking at my expression, which I assume may be one of surprise.

"I think you'll come up with something," I say, doing my best to keep up the banter, but finding it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything except the feel of his erection against my already wet center.

But I don't have long to wonder at the feeling of him, because before I know what's happening he deftly grabs me around the waist, lifts me up and then lowers me onto my back. My surprised gasp is smothered by his mouth as it crashes down on mine, and then transformed into a full moan as he slides his hand down my belly, and further, to my folds, and then finally, touches me there. Expertly, he finds just the right spots, and employs the perfect technique of alternating between applied pressure and barely touching. Remus is no novice at this, to be sure.

My eyes flutter shut at the feel of his warm fingers, but not before I catch a glimpse of him lowering his face to my breast. However, he chooses not put his mouth to me like I expect, but instead turns and lightly chafes the rough stubble of his cheek against my nipple. The sensation is soft and coarse at the same time, and even a bit painful, in the most fantastic and erotic way. I swear, by itself it could finish me. Just as I'm savoring it, his hand that is not between my legs finds my other breast, and he rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I cry out with how wonderful it all feels, and try at once to reach for him, but he resists my efforts, stills my hands. "Please," he murmurs against my neck, "let me just touch you."

"_yes_ …" is really all I can say, in between whimpering, as my brain is lost somewhere in its efforts to process all the sensory information being thrown at it. I feel as if I am all body, one giant throbbing nerve that feels only pleasure.

Just as I think I can't stand any more, he deliberately slows his ministrations and pulls away just slightly, causing me to open my eyes in protest. But he is smiling at me. Checking in, making eye contact, connecting. Not planning to stop, as I had feared. I take a deep breath and reach up to cup his cheek with my hand.

Shuddering, I say, "Remus, if you are even considering not finishing this, I _will_ hex you."

He moans audibly, and brings his mouth to mine for a searing kiss that literally takes my breath away. And then he resumes stroking me and touching me, immediately setting a pace that threatens to throw me over the edge if he continues. Breathing heavily, he pulls his face back just far enough to keep his eyes on mine, watching my reactions closely for signals. I can feel myself going tense, every muscle flexed to its limits in the anticipation of release. Floundering, I scramble for something to hold onto, and find purchase on his arms and back. His hands are seemingly everywhere at once, between my legs, all over my breasts, but his face remains here near mine, smiling and whispering, encouraging me to come undone completely.

"Are you close?" he murmurs, and the raw emotion in his voice is enough to send me hurtling over the edge. Finally, I let go and writhe in bliss as my climax overtakes me. I can feel the tears welling behind my eyes in reaction to the sheer perfection of it.

Holding my limp body close to his own, he just smiles, and gently finds my lips. I can barely keep my eyes open I'm so utterly spent.

"Thank you," I muster in a breathy and barely audible voice. "You make me feel wonderful."

"Are you kidding? That was completely selfish on my part. I'll be relishing that memory for ages…" he laughs. It's so nice to see him laughing.

I smile, and realize that I really do need more sleep. Despite my guilt at how one-sided the lovemaking was, I am unable to resist when he curls his body around mine and snuggles me to him, in a gesture obviously intended to comfort me to sleep. And I surrender to it.

Later, I wake to find Remus already out of bed and dressed, which for some reason leaves me a bit bereft. Am I that attached to him already? Best not to think on that, I suppose …

"Hi," he says, coming over and sitting down next to me on the bed. "I was just about to wake you."

"Leaving already?" I lean into his hand as he strokes my hair from my face.

"Soon. I have some things to pick up in Diagon today, and I'm on duty later…" When he trails off, I turn back to meet his eyes. He's just looking at me, two fingers rubbing his brow in concentration. Then all at once, he leans down and wraps his arms around me. I scramble to sit up, meet his embrace. I feel him sigh into my neck, and it's a tremendous relief to know that he's as overwhelmed by all of this as me. But neither of us says anything on the subject. It doesn't really seem necessary at the moment.

Trying my level best to appear like I am a mature self-sufficient witch, and not an infatuated schoolgirl, I say offhandedly, "I have to report to the department medi-witch today for a follow-up on the injury. If she gives me the all-clear, I can start back to work day after Boxing Day."

"Oh. Great, that's good." He seems glad for the change of topic.

I do actually need to get out of here if I'm going to make it home to freshen up before the appointment. Problem is, since the Weasleys are staying at Number Twelve through their hols, Remus and I won't be sleeping there, and I can't for the life of me seem to think of any excuse to see him again before the next Order meeting. Five days from now. May as well be three years.

Unless I _ask_ to see him. And I don't want to press. Not just yet. I'd really like to leave it to him for now. I try unsuccessfully to think of something to say as I rise to begin changing. But he saves me the trouble.

"I'm on Guard Duty overnight tonight, but maybe I'll run into you at Grimmauld Place tomorrow sometime. Christmas Eve? Thought I'd look in on Sirius, see everyone. Molly extended the invitation to us all for dinner."

"Sure," I say, producing a genuine smile despite my nervousness. "Christmas Eve. I'll likely stop by."

After we've both dressed, we make our goodbyes again. Remus pulls me into his arms one last time, kisses my temple, and says, "Thank you. Last night, this morning … just amazing."

"_You're_ amazing, Remus."

And, just like that, we head out for our respective commitments. Stepping outside the Leaky Cauldron, I pause in the doorway for a minute. My breath catches in my throat at the temperature change; the air is cold and smells like snow. Looking up at the attic window, I think about what's transpired here in just a short space of time. I'm not sure what tomorrow will bring, but I don't regret it. Not for a minute. I hope he doesn't either.

I can hear the distant songs of a caroling group about a block away, as I walk from the apparition point in the park to the front door of Grimmauld Place on Christmas Eve.

My emotions are all over the place tonight. I'm happy as hell for Sirius that he's got Harry here for Christmas, but I'd be fooling myself if I didn't admit that I'm a bit jealous. As of a couple of weeks ago, I was looking forward to having a quiet Christmas Eve here with Remus and Sirius, getting pissed. Now I have to share. It's selfish, I know, but I can't help it.

And then there is the rapidly growing knot of worry in my gut about seeing Remus. Will he be standoffish? Will he have told Sirius? Will Sirius guess on his own? It will be awkward to be so near to him around so many other people. A small part of me is hoping that maybe with it being Christmas and all, Remus might … I don't know. Even if we don't have what we had yesterday, it would be awfully nice to just be able to be close to him. And be merry. He's so bloody warm, and it's a frosty night.

"_Marjoribanks_," I mutter to the door, as it creaks open heavily, and I am followed into the foyer by a strong gust of wind. No one is there to greet me, but I can hear the sound of merriment coming from the parlour, punctuated by the sounds of the twins' obnoxious singing and Ginny's giggling. I poke my head in the room, and notice that neither of the men I'm looking for is there.

"Happy Christmas, you lot," I offer to the kids instead.

"Happy Christmas, Tonks," they answer in a very unsynchronized way, as they are all quite preoccupied with their decorating and high spirits. I must admit it's nice to see this old house so alive.

"Hello, Tonks," says Hermione, approaching me with what looks to be a mug of mulled cider in her hands. I've got to locate the rest of that; my hands are freezing.

"Wotcher, Hermione. I didn't know you were here for the hols."

"Well, I wasn't supposed to be, but …"

"You were worried about Harry?"

"Harry?" she says vaguely, even though she is looking right at him. And Ron. _Oh, right._ I can't help but smile.

"He's feeling more himself tonight, I see." Harry actually does look a million times better, laughing along with the others without reserve.

"Who?" asks Hermione. _Oh, crikey. _She's got it bad. It's endearing, really, to see uptight Hermione all befuddled about a lad. I remember those days.

Wait, who am I kidding? It's been longer than I care to remember since I was her age, and there's a man expected here tonight who has me quite befuddled. _Which reminds me…_

"Hermione, have you seen Sirius?" _And when I say 'Sirius,' what I really mean is 'Remus'? _

"Oh, yes. He went upstairs to check in on Buckbeak before we start dinner, I think. Sometime ago, actually. Professor Lupin was with him." And there it is, thank you very much.

"Cheers, Hermione. I'll go fetch them." It's all I can do not to sprint up the three flights of stairs to the box room where Buckbeak has been keeping. Upon reaching the second landing, though, I slow down, realizing I haven't a bloody clue what I'm going to say or do when I open that door.

It's not like I haven't thought about it. I've thought of nothing else for the last 36 hours, actually, other than how this next encounter will play out…

'_Wotcher, Remus, thanks for the shag yesterday. It was a lark!' _

'_Hi Remus. Listen, sorry I fairly threw myself at you at the Leaky. Won't let it happen again'._

'_Happy Christmas, Remus. I know I said friendship first and all, but you know what? I think I'm obsessed with you. So, how was your Order shift?'_

Honestly, without knowing what Remus is thinking, it's hard to come up with any sort of a plan. I'll just try to suss out his comfort level with the situation. Try to get a read on him and then follow his lead. _Okay, here we are … second on the left … deep breaths …_

Reaching for the door handle, Sirius's howl of laughter startles me, and I withdraw my hand as if it's been burned. I can hear his loud voice clear as day through the door.

"You slept with her!"

_What!_ I clap my hand to my mouth to contain my gasp, unable to comprehend what I'm overhearing. A sudden adrenaline rush makes my knees a bit on the wobbly side.

"Good on you, Moony! You scoundrel! I underestimated you…" Despite my stunned surprise, I can't help but smile at Sirius's reaction. I knew he'd be in favor of …

"Sirius, I beg you. Please don't make her feel uncomfortable about this. She's had a tough week. It was nothing … just two friends comforting each other. …"

_Nothing._ In spite of what I told him yesterday, and even though I know he doesn't mean it literally, the word still feels like a dagger in my chest. Suddenly it's hard to breathe.

But Sirius is not convinced. In fact, he's still laughing. "Gah! You really expect me to believe that?"

Undeterred, Remus answers, "Yes, I do. I'm trying to handle it as delicately as possible. Don't you think the situation calls for some caution?" _How can he be so bloody logical about the whole thing? _Maddening, that is.

Sirius's reaction parallels mine. "_Caution!_… It's sex, Remus, not ruddy potion-making. You didn't think twice about caution when you put your hands on her, did you, friend?"

"Of course I did! But hell, Sirius, I'm only human. Besides, where do you come off pretending to be the protector here? You would have done the same thing in my shoes …"

"Too right I would! But I also wouldn't be lying to myself about it afterwards."

"How do you mean?" asks an indignant Remus.

"Oh, come on. Do you really expect me to believe this whole 'friends' thing? You've got feelings for her. Who do you think you're fooling?" _Oh, thank you, Sirius. A million times, thank you for saying that. _

Then Remus says, more quietly, "I just can't go down that road. You know I can't. _Especially_ with her."

"Because you care about her?"

"Because she deserves so much more than the likes of me. I don't want to be a distraction for her. She could have anyone. Can't you see how remarkable she is?" I _really_ shouldn't be listening to this. I should go, or else make my presence known. But my legs are suddenly made of lead and I couldn't move if I tried.

"Moony, you don't have to sing her praises to me. She won me over first time we met. Hell, I'd have gone mad if it weren't for the two of you with me over these last few months."

"Exactly … she's like a ray of light in this dreary house, in our wretched lives. I should just be satisfied for that much. I couldn't live with myself if I were to spoil that innocence and grace." _Oh, Remus._

Sirius's snort is followed by, "Pretty little thing, but I'd never use the word _grace_ to describe my cousin." _Cheers, Sirius!_

I can hear the laughter in Remus' voice. "I meant _inner_ grace, Sirius. Everything about her is rooted in some sort of stubborn optimism. It just amazes me. No matter how dark things get for us, and hell, even when she gets discouraged, she still perceives the world as a fundamentally good place. If I were to get close to her - "

"If? Damn it, Remus, you're _already_ close to her. Don't you see the irony here?"

"Irony?"

"You think you're putting her on a pedestal, but really you're just underestimating her."

"I don't think - "

"Yes, you are. You don't think she can fully appreciate the scope of your situation, so you won't even give her a chance to try."

Remus didn't say anything after that. Or maybe he did, but as am already on my way down the stairs, I may have missed it. I've heard enough. Enough to process for one evening.

Suddenly I'm filled with anxiety at the prospect of seeing him again, at least in front of everyone. And facing Sirius, knowing what he knows. I need some air. Miraculously, I reach the bottom of the stairs without losing my footing, just as Molly comes out of the kitchen door. Looks like I'm not going anywhere.

"Tonks! Happy Christmas, dear!" she says, pulling me into a rather tight clinch.

"Happy Christmas, Molly," I respond. "Need help with dinner, then?"

"Not a bit of it! It's all ready. I was just coming to call everyone." She brushes past me on into the parlour, to round up the assorted revelers.

I'm debating whether to head straight into the dining room, or into the kitchen first to fix myself a good stiff drink, when I catch a glimpse of Sirius and Remus descending the staircase I traveled moments ago. In a moment of irrational panic, I turn my head away from them toward the parlour, as if I haven't noticed them at all.

Naturally, Sirius is the first to acknowledge me. "Tonks! You're here! Happy Christmas." He spins me around and gives me a huge hug, and then an exaggerated look up and down, before pronouncing, "You look _well_." And as expected, he shoots a sidelong glance at Remus. _Good grief._

Remus casts a half-hearted glare at Sirius before turning back to meet my eyes with an unspoken apology in his own. But I realize when the corner of his mouth turns up just slightly, the apology is for Sirius, not himself. Then, to my surprise, he steps forward and embraces me as well. More tenderly than Sirius, and more intimately as well. One hand is on my lower back and the other is on the back of my head, which I don't hesitate to burrow into his neck. Our bodies are close; it's not an embrace between friends.

"Happy Christmas," he whispers, as I notice Sirius leaving us.

I look up into his face and am relieved to see the same open man I left yesterday morning, not the closed-off one I was afraid to find tonight. The moment is broken, however, when the others come barging in noisily on their way to the dining room, led by Sirius. Remus hastily pulls away from me, and with a parting smile makes his way to the table as well.

The meal is delicious, as usual, and the mood is cheerful. Although I'm sure the Weasleys are missing Arthur's absence at the holiday feast, the mood is light as he is out of danger and will be coming home in another day or two.

The twins are on about some scheme or another, and Harry and Ron seem to think it's hilarious, as does Sirius. That's a shocker. I can honestly say I'm not hearing much of it, distracted as I am by my current occupation. I'm trying to notice whether Remus is looking at me, without, of course, being noticed by him or anyone else as I do it. The absurdity and immaturity of it is not lost on me, but still I can't stop myself. Every once in a while I catch Sirius's eye and he gives me a slight wink. _Shut up winking_.

After dinner we retreat to the parlour. Unfortunately, Remus are Sirius are recruited by Molly to help clear, so I curl up on the settee next to Ginny and try to my best to listen as she tells me about some boy at school she rates. Darren, or Dean, or something. After a bit, just as she gets up to engage in a game of exploding snap with George, Sirius come back into the room and replaces her at my side. Feeling strangely contented, I smile and cuddle up next to him and he puts his arm around me as well.

"Are you going to ask me?" he whispers.

"What's that?" I ask, knowing full well what he's up to.

"Get out of it, Tonks. You know I know." _Am I blushing?_

"Okay, fine. Not that I _care_," I tease, "but since you brought it up, what _do_ you think?" Trying not to be too obvious, I steal surreptitious glances at the doorway over his shoulder, waiting for another arrival.

"I think it's cracking. And I told him so." _I know._

"Thanks, Sirius. Really But right now, it's just, you know ... sort of up in the air."

"I know. Be patient with him. He doesn't allow himself much, yeah?" I nod, feeling a sudden rush of affection for this cousin I've only recently gotten to know so well. It's strange to see Sirius so, well… _serious_. And concerned. Maybe it's Christmas. Or maybe having Harry here brings out the best in him. Just as this occurs to me, as if on cue, Harry looks over at us and smiles. And as I observe this little moment, a hand on my shoulder startles me.

"Tonks?" Remus asks, exchanging an amused look with Sirius over my jumpiness. Sirius smirks at me and gets up to join Harry and Ron on the other side of the room, leaving Remus to join me on the settee.

"I have to go soon," I say, and then immediately regret choosing this as my opening, worried that he'll think I'm fleeing or something.

"Oh?" _Is he disappointed?_

"Yeah, I've promised my mum I'd stay with them tonight. She was going on about how we haven't had a proper Christmas the last couple of years. I've had to work, as the rookies always get assigned the holidays …"

I'm rambling, I know, but he doesn't seem to mind. His arm is across the back of the settee and it would be awfully easy to just snuggle up to him the way I would have done a week ago, or the way I did with Sirius just now. But I'm nervous. Or is it excited? Why is everything so complicated all of a sudden? I'm glad, in a way, that we are in this room full of people. It prevents me from doing something unwise. Such as leaping on him and shagging him within an inch of his life.

Much too soon, I hear goodnights being spoken, and I realize I should probably get going as well. Remus stands as I do.

"You at the Leaky again tonight?" I ask.

"Actually, I'm staying here tonight. I'm escorting the Weasleys back to St. Mungo's sometime tomorrow, so Molly insisted I stay on."

"Right. Well, then. I'm off to my Mum and Dad's. See you at the meeting, I guess, yeah? Friday?"

"Oh." He looks confused. Have I said something? "Okay, then. Friday."

"Goodnight, Remus." _How the hell do I get out of here? What's appropriate in this situation?_

"Goodnight. Happy Christmas," he says again. Neither of us seems to know what to do next, so I smile and head for the front hall to gather my cloak, giving Sirius a yell and a wave as I do. When I turn back around, I see Remus already heading up the staircase. But not before he turns and gives me a small nod and a smile over his shoulder.

Which is nice.


	7. Chapter Seven: Backward & Forward

"Are you seeing anyone?"

I knew it was too good to be true. So far, it's been a cracking Christmas with my parents. We hung out by the fire last night drinking Irish coffees and chatting about everything and nothing at all, wasting time. I half-expected to be grilled about this at that point, but she never steered the conversation into this area of my life. I've been having such a great time just being with them for the first time in so long that I let my guard down.

In any case, she's caught me unawares now and my stunned expression has surely given me away. A sideways glance at my Dad's sympathetic grin confirms that indeed it has. And really that's all she was after, in this preliminary go 'round; I don't need to confess anything more.

"No one serious, Mum." Even though I might be flushing with the memories that immediately spring to mind.

"Well, that's a shame. Here I was hoping maybe you'd bring someone home for the holidays."

She hates hearing it but in some ways she's such a Black. The pedigree and the breeding show through no matter how casual she thinks she is. The way she holds her cup. The way she holds _herself_. I used to have this joke with my paternal grandfather that she could never pull off a reverse Pygmalion. You could pick her out of a crowd in about five seconds flat. He adored her as much as my father does; as much as I do.

My mother is beautiful. I mean, really beautiful. As in, _lads-wanted-to-be-my-friends-just-to-be-around-her,_ sort of beautiful. But I am not her. My self-image is fine, really. I don't think I'm a hag or anything. I just have my own look. She is grace personified, and I am … well, something else entirely. Still, we are remarkably alike in so many ways. It's quite funny, actually, how different you can be from someone and still have so much in common. We're both hell-bent on ferreting out a solution to every problem. Both determined, stubborn as hell. My poor Dad will tell anyone who'll listen just how alike she and I are.

Lost as I am in this train of thought, I haven't noticed that my Dad has rummaged out all the gifts from under the tree, and handed one to my Mum, effectively starting the gift-giving portion of our holiday.

This is the part of Christmas that is truly infectious. It's damn hard not to feel like the world is a simple place when you are opening up new cozy slippers, or when your Dad wears his new tie over his dressing gown to illustrate how pleased he is with it. Dad has given me a boxed set of four Robert Louis Stevenson novels - beautifully illustrated editions. They were my favorites growing up. Not very girlish, I know, but I adored them. A perfect gift.

Next thing I know Dad has given Mum a small silver locket, which makes her inexplicably well up with tears and throw herself into his arms.

"Oh, Ted! I'd forgotten all about this."

"I thought it was high time we replaced it," he says. After a few moments of canoodling, they seem to remember that I am in the room with them, and my mother takes note of my crooked eyebrow.

"Oh, honey, you wouldn't remember this. I had one exactly like it with your baby picture in it, but I lost it on holiday when you were still quite little."

"That's it?" Seems like a brief explanation for such an enthusiastic snogfest.

"Well, no. It meant a lot to me, that locket. There's more to the story. See, there was a tradition in my family, where all the girls were given these beautiful, ornate platinum lockets with the family crest on them for their thirteenth birthdays. It was a coming-of-age gift, and meant to be added to our dowries, to be worn only after we had our first child. It was one of the few things that my parents ever gave me that held meaning for me. Even at thirteen, I suppose the idea of a child of my own was hypnotic for me. A fresh start; a chance to do things differently. I used to dream of putting my child's picture in it someday."

I look at my Dad, who is gazing at her as if she is seventeen again and suddenly realize the rest of the story. "You never received your dowry," I finish.

"No. I didn't. And really, by then I didn't want most of it. The family heirlooms, the money. It's better that my sisters have all that. It would have been lost on me, anyway. But there were a few things, ideas mainly, which were hard to surrender."

Finally, my Dad speaks, fingering the small locket around her neck. "We didn't have much when you were born, Mouse. But this was something she needed." She fairly swoons, looking at him.

Sometimes I forget how truly romantic my parents' story is. She chucked her whole family for him. I think by the time she was married, she was ready to be well shod of them regardless of who she married. Still, I can't imagine the physical and emotional upheaval it must have been to completely rid herself of her past and start over as someone new.

_Like a metamorphosis_. Another way we're alike.

Next thing I know Mum is joining me on the settee, handing me another gift.

"Another? You two have really gotten carried away this year," I say, inclining my head to the pile of gifts next to me.

"Oh, pish," says Mum. "Slippers, pyjamas, tea, books. Those aren't gifts. They're provisions. We needed to get you _something_ indulgent." Crikey, she's glowing. What now?

Slowly, I open the large box to reveal a dress. Or a gown, more like. For a moment I am sort of confused. I feel like a bird who has been mesmerized by something shiny, as I admire the radiance of the glossy satin. The fabric is gorgeous; a dark green, almost black, with beautiful beadwork around the very low neckline. And it's so tiny! Hell, it'll be work just getting into it. Finally, I look up at her, my jaw still low.

"You don't like it." It's not exactly a question, more of a statement. She adds the patented exasperated sigh for emphasis.

"No, no. Mum… I love it. It's _beautiful_, but… it's not really me, you know?"

"I know you don't think so, Nymphadora. But it might be a nice change. It's hard to pull off that tomboy thing after you get to be a certain age."

Oh bugger, here we go. I don't want to seem ungrateful, but …

"Darling, I got you this for New Year's Eve. I thought maybe if you had something new you'd feel it was a fresh start, maybe even meet someone…" _Oh, blimey. I forgot._

"You forgot, didn't you?"

"No! Of course not." My Mum is on the Board of the St Mungo's Charity Association and she makes us go to this black-tie benefit every New Year's Eve for as long as I can remember. Big see-and-be-seen type of thing. Last year I got out of it because of work, but this year she made me promise to trade two shifts, if necessary, to get the night off.

"I'm really looking forward to having you there again this year. And if there's someone you'd like to invite …" She's really fishing a bit now. And I can't help that my mind automatically jumps to Remus. I don't think I'd ever have the courage to ask him to a gathering like this. Not so soon, at least. But something tells me he'd be unbelievably dashing at an event like this, saying all the right things, winning over all the wealthy old ladies…

_Oh, shite._ I'm smiling. Just thinking about him makes me smile, and they can read me as easily as if I were one of the books up against my leg. I'm certain of it.

"I'm not sure there's anyone in particular I'd like to ask this year," I say, shaking my head, and trying to shake off my little fantasy as well.

"Nymphadora, will you ever tell us what happened with you and Curtis? I haven't asked because I didn't want to pry-"

I can't contain my snort, and my dad, and longtime co-conspirator, chuckles with me.

She can't help but laugh, too. "Alright, fine! I _was_ dying to pry but your father held me off. Still, things seemed to be going well there…"

"Oh, Mum. I don't know. It's not easy to explain. We started growing apart, I suppose."

They exchange a look in which they seem to communicate two hours' worth of conversation. Apropos of something, I wonder vaguely whether I will ever share that with another person.

"Look, Mum. I'm okay, really. I love the dress. New Year's will be fun. I promise to make a go of it, yeah?"

She seems satisfied by this, and turns her attention to giving my Dad a small box. Grateful to escape her focus, I finger the small silver beads on the dress in my lap and wonder what I've gotten myself into.

o

o

o

o

It still seems odd to be back in my own flat, even though when I was here the other night I did some tidying up, and stocked the pantry. Okay, maybe _stocked_ is an exaggeration. I picked up some juice and bread. And soup. Enough to get by for a few days.

My folks asked me to stay on another night, but truth be told, I thought I should stop avoiding this place. I used to love it here. I'd like to get used to it again, I think. The Weasleys will be gone from Grimmauld Place soon, and I can choose to go back to my room there some nights, too. Thinking about being alone in the house with just Sirius and Remus again fills me with equal parts apprehension and yearning.

I move to the kitchen to put the kettle on and consider what to do with the rest of my evening. One of my new books already lies opened on my settee; perhaps I might just continue to lose myself to that diversion until bed.

I'm wearing my new slippers, which I _love_. I know Dad must've chosen them, because when I opened them I swear my mother wrinkled her nose. They are the most wonderfully awful shade of chartreuse, with small purple bows on top of the slide, and they make you wonder what anyone was thinking during their design. But they are cheery, and soft and squishy, and have already made fast friends with my feet.

Just as I take the complaining kettle from the stove, there is a knock at my door. For many reasons, this takes my adrenaline up a notch. Even in the days before joining the Order, I rarely had my mates here. Mine was always the furthest flat, making it a difficult apparition point when you've had a few too many, and on the small side to boot. Not a frequent hangout. Not somewhere you'd stop by unannounced.

And though I've been able to put it out of my mind the last couple of days, the news that Kingsley shared the other night has me jumping to the worst conclusion. I'm on a list, now, after all.

Slowly, I approach the door. "Who is it?" I ask, wand at my side.

"It's me." _Remus._ Is he kidding me? My heart is racing. I must look a fright.

Still, I take a deep breath and open up. He's all flushed from the cold, and he has snow in his hair. Automatically, I reach up and brush it from his shoulders.

He bends down to give me a kiss. On the cheek. _Bugger_.

Resisting the urge to ask what the hell he's doing here, I offer instead, "I just made tea. Fancy a cup?"

"Yes, that would be nice. Thanks." He removes his cloak and drapes it over the back of the settee. Should I have taken it? Should I ask him to sit? Why is this so bloody hard?

Turning my back to him, I walk to the kitchen, as if this is perfectly normal. Tea with Remus. In my flat. On Christmas. While I am pouring, I notice with embarrassment that my hands are trembling. _Fuck. Hold it together, Nymph. You heard him tell Sirius plain as day, 'can't go down that road.' _I will myself not to have expectations one way or the other. Keep it casual.

When I return, he is perusing the book I had just started.

"These are lovely. Were they a Christmas gift?" he inquires.

I nod. "From my Dad. We read them together when I was little."

"I'm a great fan of his work. This particular title is not one of my favorites, though," he says evenly.

With horror, I remember which one it is. _The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde_. Blimey. Could the fates conspire against me more?

I don't have time to think on it too much, though, because at that very moment I see that there is a beautifully wrapped box on the table in front of him. A Christmas present. I almost drop the tray I'm carrying as I try to riddle out the meaning of that. The idea that he is giving me a gift because he feels obligated, after shagging me, is well beyond what my nerves can bear at the moment. I'm silently begging that it's not a Let's-Be-Friends gift.

He notices me noticing the gift, and tries for levity. "Yes, Tonks, it's for you."

"Oh, really, Remus? I thought after this stop you might be popping in for a little holiday visit with Mrs. Drinkwater." Confused look.

"My downstairs neighbor. She's about eighty."

"Is she agile?"

"Alright, alright. Touché, Mr. Lupin." Mood lightened. I can't help but smile back at him as I hand him his cup.

"So, are you going to open it or did I come all this way for your stale tea?"

Cheeky! I shoot him my best mock-glare. Rather full of himself tonight. I place my cup on the table and pick up the box, which is tall and thin. Could be a bottle of liquor. Doesn't seem like the type of gift Remus would give, but I can't say I wouldn't welcome it at the present moment.

"Okay, then…" I untie the beautiful tartan ribbon and set it on my lap before lifting the cover off as well. And then I let out a little gasp as I see what's inside. It's a Russian nesting doll.

"Oh, Remus, she's beautiful." And she is. I lift her out of the box and notice that she is elaborately hand-painted in about a million vivid colors and patterns. Like a child, I can't resist the urge to immediately open her up, and see each subsequent doll revealed, smaller and smaller. I start lining them up in a neat little row on the table in front of us.

I'm giddy with the simple pleasure of this, when I get to about the fourth one and I realize that each doll has differently coloured hair and eyes. The largest one has blue hair, the next red, the next pink . . . this makes me stop.

She reminded him of me. Stunned, I meet his gaze.

And he is watching me, enjoying it as much as I am. But he also knows why I've stopped. What I've realized.

"Uncanny, isn't she? I've never seen one so brightly coloured before. I walked past her in a Muggle shop in London shortly after that night you had your hair blue. Do you remember that? That night you were so hacked off at Shacklebolt?"

_I do._ I do remember. I haven't had my hair blue since that night. I nod incoherently.

"Anyway, her blue hair caught my eye and she reminded me of you immediately."

He bought me a Christmas gift in November. _Early_ November. This isn't just because of the other night at all.

Oh, shite, tears are welling. When did I get this way? Why are my emotions so close to the surface lately? Is it about Remus, or just the state of things in general?

No, it's Remus.

Why does he have to be so bloody amazing? Can't he just be my boring mate that I shagged one time for kicks? I can't even meet his eyes because I'm afraid he'll read my thoughts. And I'm not ready for him to see what's written there.

I'm in love with him.

I've known for some time, before we made love even. But it's such an easy thing to dismiss when the thought comes randomly and occasionally creeping into your head. Now, quite tired of creeping, it comes barging in instead, determined to make itself known. To make me admit it to myself. Since I can't admit it to him.

He's waiting for me to say something. "Thank you, Remus. She's lovely," I offer quietly. It's all I can manage.

"I'm glad you like her," he says, reaching over and taking my hand in his.

"Remus, can I ask you something?"

"Of course." He's smiling the warmest smile he's given me all week.

"Why are you here?"

He looks puzzled. "To give you your gift." Or he may just be teasing me.

"And?" I ask.

Looking much like a child caught with his hands in the cookie jar, he gently puts his arms around my waist and pulls me over onto his lap.

"And because I couldn't stay away anymore if I tried." Much to my amazement and delight, Remus Lupin is blushing at this confession. It's all I can do not to devour him, but I'm rather enjoying his taking the lead.

He reaches up to touch my cheek, and says, "I've missed you."

"Missed me? You just saw me last night," I say with mock confusion. I nuzzle into his neck, content just to breathe him in again.

"A day seems a long time without that smile," he says simply. I beam smugly into his jumper. _He missed me._

I raise my head to look at him. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Lupin."

"Really? Perhaps I'll have to try a different approach, then." And then he leans up to kiss me, with a sweetness that contradicts the urgency with which he pulls me closer.

Stopping for a moment, though, he mutters, "Tonks?"

"Mmmm?"

"I like your new slippers."

o

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_I must thank my wonderful beta, the lovely _aihjah_, who not only calls me on my Americanisms, keeps the plot on target, and helps me brainstorm the culture of the wizarding world, but also takes the time to have LONG conversations with me about HP, canon, and literary archetypes. You are the best!_

_Thanks for reading -please tell me how you think it's going!_


	8. Chapter Eight: Making Choices

_Chapter Eight – Making Choices_

"I trust you all had a restful Christmas after the distressing events of last week," Dumbledore begins as we hastily take our seats around the kitchen table.

Despite its large size, the room is crowded when the Order meets as a whole. But Harry and the others are here for a couple more days, and the kitchen is easier to Imperturb than the parlour, which has large open entrances. Ginny was trying to wheedle some news out of me this morning; the twins probably put her up to it.

"Arthur, it is especially gratifying to see you looking so well again. I cannot thank you enough for serving the Order at such great peril to yourself." Arthur nods.

Dumbledore proceeds to tell the alarmed group what I already know about where we stand with the Death Eaters. There are a few small gasps, and Molly is a bit pale. I know Arthur knew, but I'm sure he's chosen not to tell her before now, given the week she's already had. That little fucker Percy should be transfigured into something more fitting - such as a rat – for the grief he's causing his poor mother. As if almost losing her husband wasn't enough to be going on with for one Christmas.

Remus is sitting in the far corner next to Hestia, who seems to be casting sidelong glances down to Sirius. Although I can't be sure, as he's sitting directly behind me. During a break in Dumbledore's talk, she leans in to whisper something to Remus that is clearly not Order-related. Crikey, there's more drama going on in here than in the racy paperbacks my mum insists she does _not_ read.

I catch his eye only once and he looks hastily away, as if he thinks our making eye contact will reveal to the room that we know each other head to toe. _Actually, maybe it would,_ I realize behind a small smirk. Sirius has told me on more than one occasion this week how _well-shagged_ I look. Which is a compliment, coming from him. I think.

For a second, I consider how this tendency of Remus's to keep everything hush-hush would have annoyed me even a week ago. I would have protested, to be sure. _Who cares who knows? Let them think whatever they want_… I can hear myself. But tonight I find it rather endearing. I'm pretty sure his desire to save it just for ourselves is genuine.

Dumbledore continues his briefing. "It is regrettably necessary for you to avoid being seen together in public with other members of the Order, as it calls attention to our movements and our investigations. Even while you are on an assignment as a team, you must maintain an appreciable distance from each other. Stay only as close as required to protect each other; no closer."

"Lastly, I must ask you all to exercise great prudence when you are not on duty. Aside from the obvious exceptions, such as Molly and Arthur, for example, I must ask you all to refrain from being seen together on a casual basis outside of your homes and headquarters."

I feel Sirius's breath on my neck as he leans forward to whisper in my ear. "There you go, love. Now you're all stuck in here with me."

It's getting tougher lately to discern whether Sirius is being solemn or just cheeky, so I start to turn to look at him.

Before I manage it, Dung's booming voice breaks through the room.

"Arggh! I don't bloody Adam and Eve it! That'll be the end of the Order's darts team, then, wonnit!" After which he proceeds to burst into raucous, toothy laughter. Molly clucks and tuts at him, but Dumbledore joins in his joke, smiling that wide smile we've seen so rarely of late.

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Much, much later, most of the Order has gone home, except for Sirius, Remus and myself, and Molly and Arthur. With what I can only assume is nervous energy, Molly is drying and putting away the dishes and mugs left in the drying rack by the sink.

With a meaningful glance at us, Arthur finally rises and goes to stand behind his wife. He wraps his arms around her waist, rests his chin on her shoulder, and whispers something in her ear that we cannot hear. Her reaction is immediate, though. In my peripheral vision I can see her set down her cloth and raises one hand over her shoulder to stroke his cheek.

They are such a perfect fit, balancing each other out, and I get a secret thrill from watching them sometimes.

"You three should get some rest as well. It's well past midnight," she says, bossing us even as she allows Arthur to lead her out of the room. We nod, or at least Remus and I do. Sirius is pouring another drink.

When they are gone, Remus begins to rise from his chair. "We should be on our way as well," he says. "It is late."

"_We_?" laughs Sirius good-naturedly. "Now _that's_ adorable. You moved quickly to that from 'caution,' didn't you Moony?" It's clear he's been dying for this chance to jag us all day. And sure enough, he's gotten right to it.

Remus does glance quickly at me, and for a moment I'm not sure if he's embarrassed. But then he only smiles at Sirius indulgently.

"Go ahead, Padfoot. Give us your all, then. I've had worse than that from you, if I recall." And he takes the cloak from the back of my chair and holds it out for me to slip into.

Secretly, I'm relishing his easy use of 'we' and 'us,' and feel almost guilty of some unspecified girlishness. As if I've been scribbling _Nymphadora Lupin_ in the margins of my Charms book or something. Barmy.

Distracted as I am by this thought, I turn quickly to gather my rucksack and catch my glass with my elbow, sending it flying across the table, where it rolls off the far edge and shatters unceremoniously on the tile floor.

So much for girlishness.

"Sorry," I mutter, as Remus casts a quiet _reparo_ in the glass's direction and a small smile in mine.

We offer our goodbyes to Sirius, who doesn't look bound for bed anytime soon, and make our way out to the square in silence. I'm not really sure where we're going, or if it's the same place.

Before I can ask, Remus says, "Would you mind terribly having some company tonight?"

"Sure, that would be fine." _Fine? _Merlin, I'm such an idiot. I'm trying to play it cool, but my ear-to-ear grin is probably giving me away. In a poor attempt to hide my giddiness, I turn and quickly Apparate to my flat, and before I even get my footing I hear his 'pop' as well.

He takes our cloaks and hangs them on the rack near my door. The one that I knock over at least weekly.

"Tired?" he asks, which causes me to realize I haven't moved while he was hanging the cloaks. I nod incoherently.

"Would you like to turn in, then? You have to work tomorrow." He wraps his arms around my shoulders as he's saying this, pulling me into his chest. It still amazes me how the gesture can be so soothing and yet make still make my heart race.

"Not really," I mumble into his jumper. Then I pull back and look up at him. "I mean, unless you do. I don't have to be to work until the afternoon, and my brain's still humming." _Oh, dear. I'm rambling._ "I was thinking about a glass of wine… can I interest you?"

"That would be nice, thanks. Why don't you let me get it?"

I stop in my tracks and cast a playful glance over my shoulder at him, hands on hips. "Don't think I can manage a corkscrew, Lupin?"

He smiles a tired smile at me. "Ms. Tonks, I'm sure a corkscrew is one skill you'd have _no_ trouble with." My jaw drops in mock offense, as he finishes, "I just thought you might want to change."

_Oh._ He's right. As I head to my bedroom, I realize I've been in these robes since yesterday, since I had back-to-back shifts – first for the Department and then the Order. And then the Meeting on top of that. I hadn't though on it till now, but all of a sudden I feel a bit grubby. And tired. I did catch a few winks on my Order shift, trading off with Arthur, but not much.

I decide to have a quick shower, and throw on some flannel pyjamas. Not the sexiest thing I own, although maybe the cleanest. And it is really cold tonight. I should light a fire.

When I return to the parlour, though, I find Remus has already done it. He's sitting on the settee, stocking feet up on the table. His eyes are closed and I can't help but smile a bit at how comfortable he looks here as compared with just a week ago. I could get used to it, I think.

Sliding onto the settee next to him, I retrieve my glass from where it awaits me on the table. Elderflower wine. I'd forgotten I had this bottle in the kitchen. He lifts his head upon my arrival and notices me looking at my glass.

"I hope it was alright to open it. You weren't saving it, were you?"

I feign seriousness. "I was, actually." He looks apologetic, so I save him. "For tonight." I am rewarded for my teasing with his smile, as he opens his arm for me to snuggle closer. There is a wool blanket across the back of the settee that I pull over us, and we just sit for awhile, watching the fire, drinking our wine.

After a while I notice him drain his glass and lean forward to set it on the table. Only then do I notice absently that I must have finished mine as well, as I am holding an empty glass.

He surprises me by standing then, and offering his hand. "Feeling more relaxed, now? We need sleep."

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I slip into bed while Remus washes up, and realize when I hit the pillow that my hair is still damp. I cast a quick drying spell and feel warmer right away.

Remus returns to the room and extinguishes the lamps before slipping into our bed. _Our bed?_ He immediately slides up behind me and wraps his arm around my middle, pulling me against him. I can feel the warmth of his bare chest through my pyjamas. And I also notice, with delight, that he is not wearing bottoms.

"Did I wake you?" He asks.

"No, just thinking."

"About anything in particular?"

"Harry."

"What about him?"

"Just that he has rather a lot on his plate for his age. How old is he now?"

"15 last summer."

"Wow. I wasn't thinking about anything as dire as this at 15."

"What were you thinking about at 15?" he inquires, rolling me onto my back to look at him, as if he apparently really wants to know, and at the same time tracing circles on my belly with his fingers.

"Hmmm… let me think. Quidditch, certainly… Music. I was always nagging my parents to get me tickets to concerts during the holidays. Complaining about the ones I missed while school was in session." I feel him begin to slide his fingers along my waistband, and then dip under it, and then swiftly slide my bottoms down past my hips.

I inhale sharply with surprised pleasure, but he touches a finger to my lips and says, "Go on. What else?"

"I suppose I was starting to think about a career," I continue, trying to keep my voice even. "I don't know when I decided to be an Auror, but it was pretty early on." He has removed my pants altogether now.

I love that this thing between us, whatever it is, is so grounded in our basic confidence in each other. Maybe that comes from having been friends first?

Momentarily I muse on how, impossibly - contradictory to every feminist notion I've ever had - his choice _not_ to ask my permission to remove my clothing seems evidence of the trust between us. He trusts me completely to stop him should I so desire, and I trust that he would if I asked. If I wanted him to.

Which, of course, I don't.

He moves his body closer to mine, all of it, hard and warm and not possible to ignore. "The idea of you as a 15-year-old is fascinating."

I smirk. "I'll _bet_ it is. Revealing your deviant side, Remus?" I chastise.

He shakes his head at me. "That's _not_ what I meant at all. Your dirty mind just leapt to that on its own."

"You love my dirty mind, I believe."

"Guilty as charged," he says, and leans down onto his elbow.

"What were the things you wanted for yourself, Remus? You know, when you were young?"

"_When _I was young?" he winces. "That hurts, Tonks." But he is chuckling as well.

"Oh, come on, that's exactly what you asked me, and I didn't complain."

"I know. Fair question. It's a bit different for me, though, I suppose. Back then I never really thought about The Future in the same way that everyone else does. I lived month to month, even as a boy."

While we've been speaking he's moved on top of me, supporting his weight on his elbows, and gently slid inside me without changing the tone of his voice or the conversation.

I lay perfectly still, catching my breath. As if I am on a surveillance mission for work.

"But surely you had interests; things that were important to you."

"Of course. I think vaguely I imagined I'd pursue something in the editorial field. Writing, editing. I found some off and on assignments for a while. And then the war began…"

He has begun to move inside me, unhurriedly. And it is taking some fierce concentration not to throw this conversation out the window and just give in to the building tension in my body. But he is not usually this forthcoming when talking about the past.

"You became involved right away?" I ask. He nods, and slowly, very slowly, continues to move his hips.

I can feel my own hips lifting of their own accord, reaching up to meet him. I say, "What do you think you - "

He slips his hand up under the small of my back and pushes himself up very far inside of me until I begin to truly lose my train of thought. He has a way of moving against me, finding just the right spot to apply pressure both inside and out, that no man has ever found before. I close my eyes to savor the sensation.

"You were saying, Tonks?"

Hell, he's still listening to me. I don't even remember what I'd been saying. Caught, I can't help but laugh. "What?"

He laughs, too, and lowers his head to kiss me. Strangely, for the first time tonight. And it's so wonderful.

"You're so beautiful when you do that," he says after.

"Do what?" He can't mean kiss.

"Laugh," he answers. _Oh._ I take his face in both of my hands and kiss him, holding nothing back. Suddenly no one's laughing. And I'm so caught up in the feel of his warm mouth, the slide of tongue on tongue, that I almost forget he's still inside me. Until I feel him move again, rubbing deliciously against me.

And with that, we moan in unison into each others' mouths at the increasing heat and tension. He pulls back and looks at me with such an insatiable look in his eyes that I can actually feel the heat of the blush that spreads across my neck and cheeks. It's such a turn-on when he lets his guard down.

And then it gets even better.

Gripping my hips, Remus all but begs me to move my hips with one whispered word. "_Go_."

_Whatever you want..._

I lift my hips again, thrusting hard against him, and he sucks in his breath, and releases it in the form of my name.

After that, we don't slow down again.

He is more vocal than he has ever been with me before, telling me what he likes, asking for what he wants. It's like he's finally giving himself permission to really be in the moment, fully enjoy it, which on its own is amazing, and suddenly the idea of pleasing him is intoxicating. I want to satisfy him so completely he'll forget anything that's come before us. Like I already have.

I roll us over until I am on top. Just as I notice I'm still wearing my top, he proceeds to hastily pull it off of me, scattering a button or two in the process.

"Sorry," he mutters, but apparently he's not feeling that badly about it, because he pulls himself up then and wraps his arms tightly around my naked torso. The new angle of his cock inside me, combined with his warm mouth and tongue on my breasts, brings me close to completion, and I moan loudly to the room. Or maybe scream. I'm not sure.

This seems to be all the prompting Remus needs to hold me firmly by my back and begin driving into me eagerly. The new, rough friction is my almost my undoing, and when leans down to return his tongue to my nipple, I explode. Gasping.

He follows quickly after me, and I am pleased when he doesn't slow his pace, because it prolongs my orgasm so that I am finishing in time with him.

Spent and sweaty, we collapse in a heap side by side onto the bed. For a few moments, there is only the sound of our laboured breathing in the dim room.

"Bloody hell," he says, between breaths. "I'm in this much too deep." It's not exactly an open declaration of love, but coming from Remus, it's quite a lot.

Slowly, I move back in tightly against him and wrap myself around him, my face close to his. He notices my loaded expression, and raises his eyebrows at me to coax me to say what's on my mind.

As I fiddle with the hair that has fallen into his eyes, all I can think is how he's so unbelievably beautiful, perfect, in every way. Outside and in. And I almost missed it. I nearly had him in the friend column forever. I was an idiot.

The feeling suddenly overwhelms me, and, much like I did the first night we were together, I feel the tears begin to well up. This time, though, I hold them in check. This time, I realize, I need affirmation, not comfort.

"Remus …" I begin tentatively, "If I tell you now, how I feel? Will you keep on doing this?"

"Doing?"

"Bringing out the best in me. Loving me …" It's the first time I've used that word in any context.

"Tonks," he begins, his voice carrying a tone of warning.

"Remus, shhh." I roll back on top of him and put my fingers to his lips. "You don't have to say anything. Sometimes it's just hard for me to keep in what I'm feeling. 'Heart-on-my-sleeve' and all that rubbish, yeah?"

"I don't want you to hold back. It's just…" He looks me square in the eyes and his gaze is so intense that my first instinct is to turn away. But I don't.

"Tonks, if nothing else, you deserve to know that I've _never_ been this close to another woman. Even as a friend, actually. You mean more to me than I can possibly say." He strokes my cheek; tucks a stray hair behind my ear.

"Still," he continues, "when it comes to speaking of love, or of what the future holds, together … separately…those are topics of discussion I'm not prepared for. I'm just not ready for that. I'm so used to living one day at a time, and I can't change that overnight. If at all…But I know that I don't want to be away from you."

Quietly, and gently, I lean forward and kiss him just under his ear. "I'll take whatever you're offering." And I feel him relax once more next to me, his large hands finding their way back down to my hips and pulling me in closer.

He whispers quietly into my hair as he holds me. "I had convinced myself when we started this that I would keep a safe distance… hold onto my heart. And now, well, I've rather strayed from that path. I've lost my way."

"That's funny, because I've just found mine."

He doesn't say anymore, or if he does, I don't hear it, because I'm dead tired and sleep is fairly demanding that I pay her some attention at this point.

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I wake to the sound of the kettle, and pull the pillow over my head. To no avail, it seems, since less than a minute later I can hear someone scrabbling about in my room, creating new morning-unfriendly noises.

"Come on, Sleepy," comes Remus's muffled voice. Peeking out, I catch a glimpse of him tidying up the room. He's showered and dressed already.

"You've slept long enough. It's getting late." He turns to walk along side the bed, seemingly destined for the window shades._ Can't allow that._

Timing it just right, I dart my leg out from under the sheet, extending it over the edge of the bed. Sure enough, he catches himself on it and stumbles a bit, needing to lean on the edge of the mattress with one hand to regain his balance. I then seize said hand and pull him down next to me.

"Tonks …" he's trying to sound so stern, but he doesn't put up much of a resistance to my snuggling into his arms.

"What time is it?" I mumble into his chest.

"Ten."

"_Ugh_. Remus. I don't have to be to work until one. You're not on duty today. Why are we up?"

"Well, for starters, you are going to eat something decent for once before a shift."

"You're cooking!" Maybe I'm ready to get up after all.

"_We're_ cooking. We'll do it together. Can't have you getting spoiled, can we?"

"Mmmm, too late," I say into his neck, nibbling a bit in between my words.

"Ahh… alright, that's enough" he protests, pushing me away gently. "Get up, already. I'm fairly starving waiting for your lazy bones to rise." He slides to the side of the bed and gets up.

"What's for finishers?" I ask, before he can go.

"Pardon?"

"_Finishers_. You said, 'For starters,' we need to eat. Starters is usually followed up with a second thing." He's looking at me like I'm completely barmy. Come to think of it, what the fuck am I talking about?

"Oh…right you are."_ I am?_

Continuing, he says, "The _second thing_, as you put it, is that I need to get back to No. 12 and pack a bag before it gets too late. Moon's tonight." Just like that, and then he's heading to the kitchen, leaving me sitting in my bed feeling like a complete arse.

_Why didn't I know that? What kind of friend am I? _

I pull on my dressing gown and make my way to the kitchen, where he is cheerily gathering ingredients for our breakfast collaboration. He doesn't seem as agitated by my oversight as I feel, so I decide not to address it. However, I make a note to purchase a lunar phase calendar _today_ so that I won't make the same mistake twice.

He puts me to work, and within no time we find ourselves back on the settee, plates in hand. For some reason, the table was not discussed as a destination. I've managed to achieve toast and tea, and Remus has whipped up some sort of egg-potato-onion-vegetable thing that I don't even have a name for. To call it an omelet wouldn't do it justice. I marvel again at how cooking is one more thing this man excels at. He was humouring me with the "do it together" business, clearly.

I'm sitting here thinking that perhaps eating a normal meal once in a while isn't such a terrible idea, when Remus speaks.

"What's in the suit bag?" My mother has had my new gown cleaned and pressed for me, and it's hanging in its bag on the back of my closet door, ready for tomorrow night. Suddenly I feel like I should have mentioned this ball before now.

"A dress."

He snickers a bit.

"Is the idea of me in a dress so funny?"

"Not _funny_, per se. Unlikely, maybe. What's the occasion?"

"My Mum is forcing me to go to this annual St. Mungo's thing tomorrow night. I got out of it last year, but she wasn't letting me get away with it again."

"Thing?"

"A ball…I thought about inviting you, actually …" I sound almost shy, even to my own ears. He looks surprised, and dismisses the notion straightaway.

"Don't be silly, Tonks. It's a family event; I wouldn't expect you to -"

"No, really, Mum fairly begged me to bring someone, but I was nervous to ask you. I wasn't sure how you'd react."

He sighs, and puts down his almost empty plate. "Tonks, even if it weren't a full moon tonight, we have instructions from Dumbledore not be seen in public together. It wouldn't have worked out this time, anyway." He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles.

For some reason, I suspect that he wouldn't have come even if neither of those things were true. But then I kick myself for being so suspicious. He has, after all, surprised me up until now.

"I know," I concede. "It was a nice idea, though. And now I have a little fantasy about you in a tux because of it."

"Do you, now?" He looks a bit embarrassed, which is adorable. "Well, I'll confess that I'm envious of the revelers who will have the rare treat of seeing Auror Tonks in a gown."

This reminds me of something I've been meaning to ask him. "Remus, why do you call me Tonks?"

Again, confusion on his face, in the form of those raised eyebrows. "You asked me to call you Tonks."

"When?"

"First day we met. Kingsley introduced you by your full name at a meeting, and you asked us not to use it."

"That's it?"

"Should there be more?" Actually, I'm not sure where I'm going with this. It just seems odd for some reason I can't place.

"Well, some of the other blokes I've been with have thought it was, I don't know… _impersonal_, I guess. Like once we became intimate they earned the right to call me by my first name or something. But you've never mentioned it."

He considers this and speculates, "Sounds like they were trying to stake some claim? Maybe that's unfair, I can't speak for anyone else. But I guess it doesn't really matter to me all that much. It's _your_ name after all. Besides, why would I choose address you by a name you dislike? That wouldn't exactly have me in your good graces, would it?"

When did rational get to be so sexy?

0

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After my shift at the Department, I meet up at headquarters at about 8pm to go over an upcoming assignment with Arthur. He and Molly are waiting in the kitchen for me with tea and biscuits. I guess the job comes with some benefits, despite the shitty pay.

Remus has already been to collect his things and gone, much to my dismay. Molly tried to convince him to stay, so she could fix him a meal tomorrow while he recuperates, but he was too apprehensive transforming with so many people in the house, especially the kids. _I just wouldn't feel right about it_, he'd insisted.

Saying goodbye to him this afternoon was more taxing than it ought to have been. I know he'll be fine; he's ridiculously cautious when it comes to transforming.

Still, I wish I could see him tomorrow. He won't be well enough to Apparate back from Wales until the evening.

First moon since we've been together and I have this stupid ball. What began as simple reluctance to go is turning to out and out dread. The idea of being dressed up and drinking champagne while Remus is suffering the aftereffects of yet another excruciating transformation is just irritating. Makes you realize just how much smoke and mirrors our lives can be. How we constantly convince ourselves that if things look pretty, they must surely be okay. And it's all really bullshit when you come to it.

"Thinking about Remus, dear?"

I nearly choke to death, as I inhale a large swallow of tea. Apparently, Sirius's _well-shagged_ theory isn't as ridiculous as it sounded. Molly and Arthur and both examining me with their all-knowing, sympathetic faces. There's really no point in denying it.

"How'd you know?" I venture. If Sirius spilled it, he's a dead man.

I think Molly's going to be the one to speak, but instead Arthur says evenly, "The two of you haven't taken your eyes off of each other in weeks. We figured it was only a matter of time." They look pleased, and so I smile at them sheepishly, but I'm not really sure how much I'm supposed to share on the subject.

Thankfully, I'm saved from saying anything, as a there is a sudden rapping at the window in the door. Molly nearly jumps out of her skin, and immediately apologizes as we see that it's just an owl. Arthur goes to let the bird in, and it comes to land in front of me on the table, extending its leg.

Along with a note, there is a small box attached to him. My heart leaps at the though that it may be from Remus, but as soon as I begin to unroll the parchment, I recognize the handwriting as my mum's.

At once, I realize the folly of my first guess; the moon, after all, has been up for hours.

Sighing, I continue to read the note.

_Nymphadora – _

_I don't understand why you won't let us collect you at your flat, but Daddy and I will meet you at the ball at 7:00 as you suggest. I saw these earrings yesterday and thought they'd go perfectly with your dress. Wasn't it lucky that I happened to stop into the jeweler's? _

_Until tomorrow - we can't wait to see you! _

_Love, _

_Mum_

_P.S. - Wear your hair a normal color, please. For me._

I open the box and see her find. Very lucky indeed. The earrings are very nice; sterling filigree and little dangly circles of what looks to be onyx and maybe mother-of-pearl. Not too much. Just …_pretty_.

I tuck them under my cloak on the chair next to me and indicate to Arthur that I'm ready to finish our work, but he declines.

"It's getting late, Tonks. We're beginning to have a yawning contest now, and I doubt we're making much progress. Let's just pick up later; we've got a few days more."

To be honest, I'm relieved. I'm exhausted. By the time I Apparate to my flat, I barely have the energy to clean my teeth before I drop into bed in a heap and fall off into the abyss.

0

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"Fucking shoes!" I shout at no one in particular, as I do battle with the strappy heels I unwisely selected for the evening. They looked funky and fun at the time, but I should have had the sales clerk demonstrate how the straps weave together one more time before I left the store.

Now I'm standing in front of my mirror, ready to chuck them while issuing a string of profanity that would make a sailor blush. It's behavior completely at odds with the picture of a lady the rest of me makes in the mirror.

My mother recommended that I have my hair done _professionally_ (her word), and I hate to admit it but it was a good idea. Hairstyling is not a talent of mine. Or maybe I just don't have the patience to deal with it. Either way, there is a reason why I usually wear it very short or long and straight.

Before arriving at the salon, I morphed it long and dark. Maybe a bit darker than my natural color, but not black. Mum would have had a fit if I'd chosen black. The stylist curled it and swept it up into an intricate bunch of curls atop my head, with several pieces escaping around my face and neck.

It's a classic feminine look, and one I'm not used to seeing on myself. Still, I have to admit I like the way I look tonight.

The dress is very form-fitting, and flattering in all the right places. The iridescent satin lies flat across my tummy, making me unexpectedly grateful for my routine Auror drills. The thin shoulder straps cross on my bare back before they meet up again with the fabric which rises only a couple of inches above my arse. It would seem a risqué choice for a mother to buy her daughter, if you didn't know my mother was trying to show me off.

_Oh, well. _Playing dress-up is the least I can do for my mum; she means well.

_Besides, it's actually a bit fun_, I think, as I look into the mirror one last time, admiring my reflection with a tinge of guilty pleasure. My favorite part of the dress is the bodice, with its beautiful beadwork. Hundreds of the tiniest beads you can possibly imagine in lots of colors - silver, black, pale blue, ivory. When I first put it on, I felt like a little girl, admiring the sheer number of them, and the detail of the patterns.

Spinning around one last time, I'm thinking I clean up pretty well. Something's missing, though.

_Shite._

Earrings. I left them at No. 12 last night, I'm sure of it. I had no bag with me, and I know I didn't pocket the small box.

_Time check: 6:48_ – I can probably make it if I hurry.

I Apparate straight into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, and in the process turn my ankle in my stupid, stupid shoes. _Damn. _

Sirius is the only one in the room, standing near the sink, and upon seeing me lets out a long, low whistle.

"Holy shite, you look amazing," he leers, looking me up and down without embarrassment.

I've no time to engage in the game. "Sirius, have you seen a small jewelry box in here anywhere?" Immediately I begin rummaging around the shelves that line one wall of the kitchen. But they're not here. I'll have to go ask Molly. I'm sure she and Arthur must have found them in here.

Just as I approach the door, it opens suddenly and I collide hard into someone's chest. _Remus_.

"_Remus!" What is he doing here?_

He steadies himself, and me, and pulls back to look at me in my dress..

"Oh my God," he says faintly, awe in his voice.

I blush. _Again_. What's happening to me?

He looks terrible, standing here in his dressing gown, grey under his eyes. On instinct, I wrap my arms around him tightly. I hope I'm not hurting him.

"What are you doing here?" I ask quietly.

"Molly sent owls this morning until I relented. She's been killing me with kindness all afternoon."

"Tonks, is this the box?" Sirius pipes in. I jump slightly. I'd actually forgotten he was in the room.

He's standing there holding the small white box up for me to see.

"Yes, Sirius, thank you. They're from Mum."

As I grab them and hurriedly put them on, Sirius scuttles out of the kitchen, imploring me to have fun.

I look back to Remus, internal conflict waging a war inside me. I wish I could stay and take care of him. He brings his hand to me cheek, followed by his lips.

Then he whispers, "You look devastating. Your mother will be pleased." And for just a moment he lets his hand slide down the smooth fabric on my hip.

Reluctantly, I manage, "I have to go. I really don't want to listen to my mum bitch all night about my being late. Could I see you later?"

He shakes his head. "No, you should go home. I'm going to take a sleeping draught tonight. You get some rest. We have to bring the kids back to school tomorrow, you and I."

"How'd I get that plum assignment?" He just smiles and shrugs, and gently pushes me away so I can leave.

With one last fortifying look at him, I take a deep breath to gather myself, and feel the familiar tug of Apparation – more pronounced in this dress – and find myself in the foyer of the large ballroom.

Mum is standing just outside the doors, tapping her foot at me, and Dad is beaming at me. He moves forward to kiss me on the forehead.

"Mum," I start in, "It's only 7:03, for Merlin's sake …"

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Many thanks to my betas, _Indie_ and _aihjah_, for their ongoing help and support with the project.

FYI: I will be changing my pen name here at to be consistent with the one I use nearly everywhere else, _modestyrabnott_, so if you recive automatic updates for this story, you may need to resubscribe. Sorry for the inconvenience.


	9. Chapter Nine: Closure

Chapter nine 

My mum has this amazing talent, by which she can give me a dressing-down under her breath, and at the same time be smiling and waving greetings to other guests as we pass by their tables, looking entirely composed. It's unbelievable. She really should be in a ruddy circus or something.

_"…would it be so terrible to wear the hair you were born with_…yes, hello, Maeve, you look lovely tonight! …_you're blessed with gorgeous chestnut hair the rest of us can only get with potions_…Howard, you devil! How _do _you still look so splendid in a tux at your age…ha,ha…_and you act like it's something to hide_"

By the time we reach our table, though, she seems to have gotten her annoyance with me out of her system, because she does tell me how "breathtaking" I look in the dress. I always thought this was a strange compliment. Dementor of fashion, I am.

My sweet, adorable father sneaks me a conspiratorial smile and pulls out my chair for me. I gather my skirt to sit, all the while deciding whether I am going to proceed with Option A: _get pissed, _or Option B: _come up with an excuse to knock off early._

As I consider this, however, I hear my mother say, "Curtis, _here_ you are. You look dashing, sweetie. I'm so glad you could join us." I look across the table and watch, dumbstruck, as she kisses him fondly on the cheek. _You've got to be joking._

He smiles his hello and speaks something to her that I cannot hear over the din of the growing crowd in the room. My father, still at my back waiting for me to sit in the chair he's holding, whispers in my ear, "Sit down, Mouse. You're staring."

Hurriedly, I do sit down, just as Curtis makes his way over, and gestures to the chair next to mine. "May I?" he inquires politely. I resist the temptation to shoot eye daggers at my mother and smile back at him instead.

"Of course, Curtis. It's great to see you. How are you?"

"I'm well, Tonks. Thanks." He sits, and looks down at the table in front of us, smoothing out the linen tablecloth. _Shite. We didn't even make it half a minute before the awkwardness took over._

My dad makes his hello to Curtis, and immediately my mum bustles back over before any actual conversation can occur. "Boys, would you mind terribly going to get us some champagne?" They oblige, of course, and they are barely out of earshot when I turn back to her.

"I really can't believe you would do this."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're on about, Nymphadora." She pretends to straighten her gloves. _Holy shite, she's wearing gloves…what's that all about? _Wait, I mustn't be distracted by the gloves. 

"I don't have the patience to go round in circles, Mum. Just tell me, so I know what's expected of me. Did you invite him to be my date tonight? Is this a setup?"

She actually snorts at me. "Don't flatter yourself, dear. Curtis doesn't need an invite from you to be here. If you recall – although perhaps you've chosen not to – he's well-respected in this community. He's an invited guest."

"But you had some say in the seating charts, no?" She doesn't answer, but grins mischievously.

"Oh, crikey."

We can see the men making their way back to the table, so Mum says rather quickly under her breath, "It may interest you to know that he declined to bring a guest _before _the committee started looked at seating arrangements." And she gives me a meaningful look, as if somehow this bit of information settles the matter.

Once we are blessed with drinks, my mother takes one sip and quickly shepherds my father to the dance floor, explaining, "The orchestra is so wonderful I can't resist!" As if my being left alone with Curtis is a complete coincidence.

I smile at him in a casual way, and try my level best not to inhale the contents of my flute with one gulp. We chat for a couple of minutes about our jobs, and then politics. And when I actually resort to an observation about the weather, he clears his throat and changes the tone of the conversation.

"Look, Tonks, I don't want this …_awkwardness _between us to ruin the evening. So I'm just going to get it over with. Are you seeing anyone?"

"Curtis …"

"It's okay, Tonks," he shrugs. "Really, it is. I figured there's no way you wouldn't be. Not by now, I mean." He looks a bit wistful, but to my relief, neither hurt nor angry. 

I'm guess I'm still staring, so he continues. "So, that's a yes, then?"

"Yes," I say quietly. "I'm … seeing someone."

"Anyone I know?" I shake my head.

"Is it serious?" _Good question._

I look away at the orchestra, and hedge a bit. "Um, it's still a bit new. I'm not really sure where it's heading." That's not entirely true. _I'm _not unsure about anything; I just don't know what I can count on yet.

"Is he good to you?" This question surprises me more than a little, and I look quickly back to him. He's not jealous. He just wants to know.

"He's a good man, Curtis. I trust him completely." He nods, and smiles at me, and we are okay.

After that, things take an immediate turn for the better. Curtis and I seem to have concluded, in some sort of unspoken way, that we may as well enjoy ourselves. We dance a little, drink a lot, poke fun at the social elite, and in general have a pretty good time.

I had forgotten how much fun he could be to just kick around with. The end of our time as a couple was so strained, and when you finish with someone you always tend to remember only the end. How depressing is that? Exceptionally depressing, that's how. I don't want to do that.

I find myself somewhat grateful for my mother's manipulative tendencies; they don't net her the results she's after, but they've worked out well for Curtis and me. We needed to round things out in this way.

By the end of the party, we're having a blast, and I'm actually sad to notice when the festivities seem to begin to wind down. After saying good night to my parents, Curtis and I walk out in to the cooler foyer to get ready to leave.

Suddenly, I'm incredibly worried that I'm going to botch everything by saying something stupid – something that he might misinterpret as a come-on or a brush-off, and I don't want to give either impression.

I think he senses my apprehension, because he flashes me a very warm smile and says, "Thanks, Tonks. I had a great time tonight. Maybe we can have a drink or something sometime. I'd hate to lose touch completely." 

"I think I'd like that. But let's not be those people who _say _they're going to do it. Let's really do it, yeah?"

"Absolutely." And he pulls me into a great hug, and I am a bit nostalgic, I must admit. He smells the same (in other words, _great_), and he looks bloody fantastic in his tux. I'd be inclined to take him home again were I not helplessly in love with someone else.

When I look up at him, I say, "I'm glad my mum is a conniving bint sometimes." He laughs, and kisses my forehead, which is not an entirely unpleasant thing. And then we say good night and Disapparate to our respective destinations.

0o0o0 

Next morning comes with a bit of a hangover, but not enough to make me linger in bed for very long. I'm too anxious to get back to Number Twelve and its occupants. One occupant, in particular. 

After a quick shower, I throw my things in a bag and Apparate straight into the kitchen, where I encounter Molly, Arthur and Remus sitting at the table, and Sirius at the stove, where he is, unbelievably, _cooking._ The pop of my arrival causes all heads to turn in my direction.

"Aha! Here's the debutante, now," announces foodie Sirius, spatula in hand._Here we go. _I shouldn't have come back to retrieve the earrings last night; he'll take the piss out of me for ages about my out-of-character girlishness.

I decide not to bite. "Morning, everyone. Remus, feeling better?"

He nods, swallowing his tea. "I suppose a bit, yes. I'm always sore for an extra day or two after a transformation when the weather's like this." He does look a bit peaky. If I were brave enough I'd go kiss him. I notice, though, out of the corner of my eye, that Molly is beaming at me, apparently waiting to say something.

I turn to her. "Molly?" 

"Good, morning, dear," she gushes. "You looked stunning last night. I so wish I'd seen you in person."

Sirius snorts. "She was indeed _captivating,_" he says exaggeratedly.

He's getting rather annoying. "Sirius, what the hell are you on about? And more important, why are you wearing an apron?"

"Molly's day off," he announces, although she looks anything but pleased about it.

As she and Arthur excuse themselves to go round up the children, Arthur says to me, "I take it you've not seen the newspaper this morning, then?" and hands it to me across the table.

"No, actually I Disapparated from inside my flat -"

I cut myself short when I see the huge photo on the front of the Prophet. Above the fold.

"Seems you're a right little celebrity, cousin," says Sirius, smirking. 

The picture is of Curtis and me at the ball last night. I watch in horror as he repeatedly wraps his arms around me and leans down to place a tender kiss on my forehead. Looking like a lovestruck …well, _girl, _I close my eyes and appear to blush profusely at the gesture. After seeing it several times, my eyes find the small story beneath it.

_Power Couple_

Clearly captivated by the alluring Auror Nymphadora Tonks, rising publishing executive Curtis Martin steals a kiss from his escort at last night's high-profile benefit gala for St. Mungo's. According to a close friend, the two were inseparable at the event, leaving no one to wonder of the nature of their relationship. Although no date has been announced, this could prove to be a prominent alliance. 

"I was not his _escort_! He was there on his own." I toss the paper down on the table. "Damn, I hate this bloody rag. Have they _ever _gotten a story straight?"

"You look like you had a nice time, though," says Remus quietly from over his teacup. "I didn't know you'd seen him lately." I look up at him, surprised.

_Holy shite, is he jealous? _I never would have predicted _that. _

"Gah… Curtis and I are just friends now. It's all good."

Sirius, being _Sirius, _snorts at this. "Oh, dear, sweet, girl. You can't tell me you don't see _that _one from a mile away."

"Sorry?" I really don't know what he's talking about.

"Come on, Tonks. Blokes who want to be your _friend _are generally trying to get into your knickers. Especially if they've been there before."

"Sirius, it was perfectly fine. He's a good bloke."

"_Good blokes _are the worst perpetrators of this strategy, isn't that right, Moony?" Sirius finds the whole thing quite entertaining. I look at Remus for his reaction.

For his part, Remus doesn't look very amused. "Sirius, stop it. I'm sure Tonks is tired. She doesn't need your two knuts just now." He doesn't look at me for very long.

He is jealous, and forgive me, but it feels damn good to get a reaction out of him. Even if it is a bit childish of me to enjoy it.

I'd like to put him at ease. Say something about how I'm not all that tired. That I was home in bed, _alone, _before 11. But I don't have the opportunity because at that very moment, Harry, Hermione and Ron walk into the kitchen abuzz with back-to-school chatter and energy.

Remus meets my eyes for a moment, and then greets them warmly, filling them in on our trip back to Hogwarts as they eat a hurried breakfast, served with much fanfare and theatrics by Sirius.

Before long, it's time to go. I run into the loo and morph, making myself a bit taller and a _lot _older, with rather distinguished looking grey hair. I also change into the wool suit I was instructed to bring, before emerging looking like one of my mother's mah-jongg friends. Remus and the kids are all pulling on cloaks and I bring up the rear, herding them down the steps toward the square.

I am not a fan of traveling by Knight Bus. I like moving in fast forward, not stop and start. I see little of Remus after we climb aboard, as he takes half of our charges to some seats near the back. The Weasleys seem intrigued by the novelty of the vehicle, but by the end of the bumpy journey the appeal has lost its luster, so to speak. No one is sorry to disembark at Hogsmeade. The bus rolls past town right on up to the gates of the school before making an abrupt stop.

We get the kids' luggage sorted out, and Remus pulls Harry aside to have a word. About Sirius, perhaps. I quickly survey the trees that edge the snowy road back up to the village. But it looks all clear. 

Finally, we say our goodbyes to the kids, who waste no time in heading for the castle gates.

Without consulting me, Remus dismisses the bus, and it vanishes with a BANG, which startles me even though I know it's coming. And then Remus and I are left standing in the snowy silence of the deserted road.

"Not planning on the return trip, I see?"

"I hate that bloody bus," he says. "I thought we'd just Apparate back." I nod my endorsement of the idea.

"Fancy grabbing a bite in the village first?" He asks. "I'm famished…Wasn't up to Sirius's breakfast, I'm afraid."

"But we can't be seen together," I reply.

He just grins at me. "Madam, if anyone guesses who you are today, I'd eat my hat." _Oh, right. _I had almost forgotten I was in disguise. Was a bit distracted. 

"_You _are a sneaky one, Mr. Lupin. There will be rumors of your budding affair with a middle-aged mystery woman." He proffers his arm, which I take, and we begin to walk briskly up the hill toward the Three Broomsticks.

It's warm and cozy in the pub, in contrast to the bitter day we leave outside, and it feels brilliant to sit _still _after the horrendous bus ride.

Remus wasn't kidding about being starving. He orders a huge meal and tucks right in. I wonder if he's always like that when he's trying to get his strength back after the moon. I wonder a lot of things.

It's nice to have a meal just the two of us for a change. Especially one during which we don't talk about the Order, or Sirius, or the Ministry. All are topics to be avoided in a public place, so instead we talk about everything and nothing at all, and laugh a_ lot _over our dinner. We've never been on an actual date, and heaven knows this still isn't one, but it's lovely anyway.

Rosmerta comes over to chat, and Remus introduces me as his sister, visiting from out of town. And then we have some fun with that, inventing nonexistent childhood memories. It's over all too soon, though, when we start to run out of reasons not to linger. Remus excuses himself to use the washroom, and I make to finish my meal.

Just then, Rosmerta approaches the table, to bring me the bill I assume.

"Here you are, Madam," she says warmly, and hands me a large key with a big #5 on the attached tag. "I apologize in advance for the size of the room, but Remus said you'd prefer to be on the top floor."

I try not to look too flummoxed when she adds, "He said he'd meet you up there after he went for your luggage."

"Thank you… _Rosmerta, _was it?" I manage in a relatively even way.

She nods, "Enjoy your stay. Don't hesitate to ring should you need anything."

I gather my cloak, and stand, remembering to ask her to point me in the right direction for good measure. It's all I can do not to sprint up the creaky stairs.

But the door opens before I have a chance to use my key. He pulls me in, closes it behind us, and then proceeds without saying anything, to kiss me. _Hard. _

I can't believe how much I'd missed the simple slide of his tongue in my mouth. It seems like such a small thing, but it's practically intoxicating.

After a moment, I lean back and fix my best indignant glare upon him. "Why, Remus, what kind of girl do you take me for? You're making quite an assumption, bringing me up here in broad daylight."

He's not even up for my silliness, just pulls me back in, murmuring against my lips, "Morph back to yourself, Love." Somehow I keep forgetting about the fact that I'm still disguised.

I make him wait, though. Can't resist teasing him some more, sliding my hands down to his arse. "Hmmm…are you sure that's what you want? We could have some real fun with this _sister_ thing, you know?"

He laughs, but is impatient, nibbling that place just below my ear that must be attached to some very significant nerve centers in my brain.

"Go on, make the change," he implores. "I miss you." _Well, hard to say no to that…_

I feel the familiar pull as my body slides back into its own form and the prickle as my hair darkens and grows out a bit. It barely touches the tops of my shoulders before he's got his fingers tangled in it, kissing my neck.

"_There _you are. Much better."

We haven't been alone together in two days, but it feels like two years, and we're in a right frenzy to get closer to each other. When he brings his mouth back to mine, right away it becomes deep and hungry and wanting more. I immediately start pulling his shirt out of his trousers and slide my hands down the back of them, desperate to feel some skin. He feels the urgency, too, as he frantically struggles with the buttons on my frumpy suit jacket.

When I unbutton his trousers and my hands finally find the bare skin of his cock, he groans, and abandons his attempt to remove my jacket, instead lifting my skirt and pushing aside my knickers to touch me right away. I gasp in response against his rough chin.

My knees buckle, and I almost collapse at the easy slide of his fingers against me. I'm surprised at myself for being so wet and ready, and utterly helpless with wanting him. Hell, we've been in the room for less than a minute.

Instinctively, I lift my leg to grant him better access to his task, which to my delight, he interprets as a different signal. In one motion, he grabs the undersides of both of my thighs and lifts me clear off the floor, kissing me rather forcefully all the while.

I let out a surprised little squeak into his mouth, and instantly wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist to prevent myself from falling. But there's no chance of that; he's supporting my weight with ease, and inching us the few inches to the wall next to the door I just came through.

Slowly, he leans into me, wedging me between his body and the wall, and kissing me for all he's worth. When the surprise of being lifted subsides and my weight settles into him, I can feel his cock nudging against my slickness under my skirt. 

_Shite, _he feels so good. I hear moaning, and suppose maybe it's coming from me. I'm tired of caution. I'm tired of holding back. I'm tired of not asking for what I want.

_And so I do. _

"_Now, _Remus," my voice sounding hoarse and unrecognizable as I beg. "God, fuck me now. Don't make me wait."

His only answer is to slide quickly into me, pushing me up into the wall and assaulting my mouth with his own. And then he begins to drive into me with abandon. There is no tenderness this time, just raw lust. And, Hell's bells, is it amazing. The wall is hard against my back, and he's pushing against me with all his strength. I'll be bruised later but really don't give a damn. The angle of our lovemaking allows him to find his way deep inside me, and I relish the sensation, leaning my head back against the wall.

He buries his face in my neck and then moves down to nip at my fully-clothed breasts, which somehow feels even better than it would if they were bare. Soon, I can feel my body running away from itself, and I fumble to hold onto something, finding only his shoulders and back within reach.

I begin to see stars. And then I hear him mumbling incoherently and grunting and I realize he's coming, too.

The unbelievably sexy music of intermingled groans and words and whimpers and gasping breaths seems to last forever, until finally, and with much stumbling, he wraps his arms around me and edges us over to the bed where we fall, gratefully.

"I thought you were still feeling a bit sore," I ponder aloud.

"Better now," he says.

"It would seem so."

He rolls on his side toward me, resting his head along his arm. "Sorry for the urgency… I'd been thinking about you since last night. Seeing you for those two minutes in that dress near _killed_ me. Hell, I felt like a lad again, fantasizing about you."

"You looked unbelievably beautiful, Tonks." He runs his warm hand back and forth across my thigh distractedly.

"I …thank you." I can feel the blush heat my cheeks.

He looks sheepish, like he has something else to say, so I raise my brows in invitation.

Reluctantly, he admits, "I was miserable seeing that newspaper this morning. It looked like such an intimate scene."

"I didn't go home with him."

"I know." He believes me.

"And I certainly didn't set out to make you jealous."

"I know that, too."

"But you were?" I ask hopefully.

"Were what?"

"Jealous?" 

"Yes." I hope I don't look too pleased. "You're smirking," he says. _Oops. _

"No, I'm not." _I am, of course. _

"Don't rub it in, alright? It's embarrassing enough to confess it." Now I'm really laughing at him, and he throws a pillow at me. Then he says, more seriously, "You looked like you were enjoying yourself, though. At the event, I mean."

"It _was _fun," I admit.

Remus averts his eyes, saying, "You should be out doing that sort of thing more often."

I cup his cheek to bring his eyes back to mine. "Remus, I had a good time last night. But I don't want him in my bed… and I can't_ fit_ him in my heart. It's pretty crowded in there just now."

He looks a bit uncomfortable for a moment.

"Shite, I'm sorry, Remus. I always bugger things up by talking too much…"

"Tonks…"

"First I worry I'm not giving you enough space…"

He's smiling at me. "Shut up, Tonks."

"…and then I worry I'm being too distant, and…"

He grabs me suddenly and silences me with a quick but thorough kiss, and then looks at me in earnest.

"I love you," he says plainly.

_What? _

I can't move; can't breathe. My heart feels extremely large, as if it occupies the entire inside of my body, where it has surely eclipsed all of those other unnecessary organs. Such as lungs. Who needs those?

"Tonks?"

"I'm sorry?"

"It's time you knew. It's not fair to you, my being so guarded. God knows, I've made a fool of myself for far less than this." I'm afraid to speak – move, even - for fear that he might retract his words, or say something to confirm my fear that I heard him wrong.

"Are you alright?" he asks, concerned at my continued silence.

"I … yes. Just a bit stunned. What happened to caution?"

"Bit late for that, I'd say." He looks a little anxious, as if now that he's hearing the words leave his mouth he's not so sure he should be saying them. I nod, hoping to whoever's listening that he'll elaborate.

"Tonks…you came barreling into my seemingly ordered world and knocked me flat on my arse. I thought maybe this could be a casual thing between friends. But that's bullshite…the truth is, I've been in love with you since the moment you stepped through that door at Number Twelve. It's just plain absurd to call it anything else."

Not until this very moment, as I surrender to the lovely sensation of my heart spreading its wings, do I realize how much I've been playing it safe with my emotions. I wrap myself into his body and cling to him, not knowing what to say that could possibly express the range of emotions I feel for this man.

"Remus, I love every single thing about you. Even the parts you're not so fond of."

"I know," he murmurs into my hair. "You're still here."

0o0o0o

Remus and I return to Grimmauld Place two hours later to find Molly and Arthur have packed up and returned to the Burrow. Now that the children are back to school, and Arthur is well, there is no reason for them to be here, excepting Order meetings.

Sirius is sitting alone in the parlour, glass in hand, and looks a little bleary-eyed. Still, he musters a teasing look at us.

"Well, well, well…look what the cat brought in. Nice afternoon, you two?"

"Lovely," Remus says, looking at me rather than Sirius. And not hiding it.

Sirius says, "Thought maybe you'd stay on in the village for the night. Have some time to yourselves." He knows full well how long ago we dropped the kids off, and what we've been doing since then. 

"Don't be daft," I say, "I'm glad to have the house back to ourselves. Are you going to share that, or not? Remus, would you mind fetching some more glasses?"

Remus gives me an appreciative glance before heading off to the kitchen. Sirius smiles, passes the bottle, and pats the spot on settee next to him. Which I take.

And just like that, we're back to business as usual at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.


	10. Chapter Ten: Maintaining Balance

Remus and I have become intimate.

I know it sounds daft, as we've been having sex for weeks. But in the beginning, there was still an invisible barrier between us, thin as gauze, so unnoticeable that sometimes I was able to ignore it. But an obstruction nonetheless.

I worried that I was pushing him into something.

He worried that he was overstepping his bounds.

But when he told me that he loved me, something seemed to change in him. That is, aside from the usual bunk that happens after a couple passes that hurdle in a relationship.

He just seems much less guarded with me.

I know he's not ready to talk, or even think about anything beyond right now. Truth be told, neither am I. And certainly, there has been no discussion about buying a thatched cottage and a big lazy dog, producing a brood of happy offspring, and baking bickies all day.

Thankfully, I'm not really a wash and dry kind of girl anyway.

But I'd be lying if I didn't admit to savouring every occasion of his lowered inhibition. Like when he allows himself to use the word _need_ when we make love. And when he absent-mindedly strokes my hair in front of Sirius, or takes the seat next to me at dinner or a meeting, without the hesitation of someone who cares if anyone sees him do it. The other night at dinner, he absentmindedly ate something off my plate and I thought Molly was going to burst.

I've been careful not to speak of it, to call attention to his openness. Merlin knows if I make him think on it too much, he might start second-guessing himself.

And for his part, Sirius has done the same. There was much ribbing in the beginning, but he seems to have gotten used to the idea of Remus and me by now.

"Tonks, are you with us?" Remus asks, startling me out of my thoughts. _Speak of the devil…_

"Sorry," I mutter, as he returns his attention to the large pot boiling on the stove. "I was just thinking about how much I have to do for work."

Sirius snorts, as he most always does, when he suspects I am - as he puts it - _having a Remus Lupin flight of fancy_. I stick my tongue out at him, and return to my assigned task of setting the dinner table for the three of us.

Remus and I are staying the night here at number twelve, a habit that is becoming more and more frequent of late. When I have to work the late shift for the Department, I often just go back to my flat, as it is so much closer to the Ministry. And there have been a few really wonderful nights that Remus and I have spent alone together there.

But mainly, we stay here.

With Sirius.

Although he denies it, I think Remus is afraid to leave him alone for long. Since the hols, Sirius has been far more brooding than he ever has been, and outside of Order meetings, he divides his time equally between drinking and sleeping.

Everyone's noticed and everyone's concerned. Even those in the group who are less than patient with Sirius's …_eccentricities_. It's the only thing on everyone's mind, and so naturally, it's the only thing nobody mentions.

Tonight it's just the three of us, so instead of the charade of pretending there's no problem, we opt for the charade of pretending the problem is more humorous than it actually is. This is our usual routine. And it begins with Sirius asking if I've been to market.

What this actually means is, _have you picked up more firewhisky, as I'm almost out? _

"Not today, Sirius. Remus said he had dinner covered, so I didn't stop."

"Covered, my arse," he grumbles, and proceeds to rummage out a bottle of wine from the pantry and hunt for a corkscrew.

Remus shoots me a look over his shoulder. He's going for amused, but his concern in thinly veiled. It doesn't change the way we are, though. The usual banter among the three of us.

Over the same delicious beef stew Remus made me a few weeks ago, Sirius asks me, "You getting tired of him yet? You know, between the sheets? Cause I'm thinkin' it can't be long before the _older man_ thing plays itself out…"

I smile in spite of myself, at the rather vivid memories that spring to mind. _Tired of him? Not so much. _

"Sirius, if I didn't know better I'd think you were jealous. But I'm not so sure of whom. You seem terribly interested in what Remus is like in bed." Sirius chokes on his wine.

Remus chimes in, "Always did have a thing for me, come to think."

"Egad, Tonks. Now _that's_ disgusting. I'm sure he'd love to get his hands on me, but you forget I've seen this man at his worst, and let me tell you, it's not a pretty sight."

Remus's expression sombers at the double meaning of _at his worst_. We all catch it in the same beat.

"Aw shite, Remus. Not what I meant, mate." It's not either. But it kills the mood anyway. Nothing like the inadvertent mention of lycanthropy to take the fun out of a perfectly good homophobic teasing session.

The rest of the meal is spent in empty chitchat, teasing each other without the heart or energy to actually take the piss.

Some time later, after Sirius has finally gone off the bed, Remus and I make our way up to his room. It's the larger of our two small rooms. The bath, however, is still not roomy enough for two, so we take turns washing up and cleaning our teeth before sliding into the smallish bed together.

His long frame takes up a good deal of the bed, but I don't mind, because it's an excuse to wedge myself into the crook of his arm. As if I need an excuse.

"Does it bother you that we never go out?" Remus asks me out of nowhere.

"Out?"

"You know: dinner, theater, parties - things normal couples do?" I'm not sure what he's expecting me to say, so I just blink at him. Like some blinking thing.

He clarifies. "All we do is stay in and have sex."

I can't help but smile at his earnestness. "Isn't that my line?"

He chuckles softly into my neck, which tickles a bit.

"I could morph. We could go out." I offer.

I feel him nod gently. "If you want," he says. "Although it's not the same if I can't look at you across a table." _Sigh._

"Remus, I'm perfectly content with what we've got going on. Please don't worry that I'll tire of it."

He doesn't answer me, just looks contemplative. I decide to ask him something I haven't brought up in a while.

"Remus?"

"Mmm?"

"It's nine days until the next moon."

I can feel him stiffen ever so slightly behind me. "Tonks, I can't…"

"Why not?" I ask, trying hard not to get my back up. Which is met only by a heavy sigh.

"I just can't. I can't have you involved."

I turn now, to face him. "Remus, seriously, why not? What are you afraid of?"

He can't meet my eyes. "Tonks, if anything ever happened to you at my hand, I couldn't bear it." I actually snort at this, which may be the result of too much time with Sirius. He quirks a brow; doesn't see the humour.

"Remus, I don't know if I've mentioned, but, er – I'm an Auror. I've faced transformed werewolves before, and without the benefit of Wolfsbane."

He shakes his head, unable to find the words for his continued resistance.

I sigh, too, resigned. "Alright, then. I trust your judgment Remus, and I refuse to become a nag, so I won't raise the issue again."

"Thank you-"

"But."

"Tonks-"

"Just let me say this, please?

"I just hope you'll think about this some more. You say you trust me and yet you won't let me into this part of your life. I'm a hell of a lot more capable of handling a crisis – should one present itself - than Sirius, especially the way he is lately…"

Remus is looking at me differently now, as he takes it in.

"Remus, I think maybe my safety's not the only thing you worry on. Is it because you're ashamed of my seeing you that way?"

For a second I'm scared to death he's going to be angry at the assertion, but he only says quietly, "I'm quite sure you don't know _all_ my fears yet, love."

"Maybe not, but I know that you always get like this after Sirius says something fucking stupid. He didn't mean anything by it."

Remus turns to me again and says evenly, "There's always a reason for what people say, Tonks. But usually it's not the reason they think."

He still seems distant, but it doesn't stop him from gathering me to him and turning us into the pillows to finally sleep. And for that, I'm grateful.

0o0o0

Kingsley and I are working together again today. We can't exactly abide by Dumbledore's request when the Department assigns us to work together; it'd look too suspicious to object to working together.

So we've developed a new sort of technique today, maintaining as much distance as we can manage while still staying in each other's line of vision. It's quite effortless to pull this off here, in Billingsgate Market, amidst the crowd and within the narrow aisles.

And, easy or not, it's sort of our only option; I couldn't have morphed or I'd have forfeited my contacts down here, what few I have.

Three separate fish sellers, wizards who work among the Muggles, have filed complaints to the Department in the last month. Seems that some DEs have been lurking about, putting the press on the vendors, helping themselves to cashboxes, using scare tactics to induce fealty to their cause. It's the typical 'coorperation in exchange for protection' arrangement. They're nothing if not conventional, Voldemort's cronies.

So I weave through the throng, pretending to be browsing the goods, while waiting to confirm the identity of one of the complainants. Over the din of the hawking and haggling, I hear a buyer say, "Oi, Tom, what's good today?"

Taking care not to snap my head up too quickly, I raise my eyes to survey this Tom, and see that he matches the decsription in my case file: tall, dark-haired, looks to be in his early forties. He's the one I need to speak to all right - Thomas Hogan, reportedly the most vocal of the three vendors who have requested Ministry intervention.

I make my way closer to the counter and ask under my breath, "Mr. Hogan?" And then, quickly,"Try not to look startled, I'm an Auror."

He doesn't miss a trick, the wily bugger. "Hallo, there, young lady. Whaddya fancy today? Carp? Cod? Halibut?"

"Can we have a word outside?" I ask, and he nods, indicating the large door to my right. I leave him to finish his negotiation, and take the scenic route to said entrance.

The prawns at the first counter I pass from look amazingly fresh, and I consider briefly picking something up before we leave. Remus promised to cook again. I can't decide if it's because he fears my cooking, or if he's still wooing me. Either way, I'm not complaining.

I wander out onto the loading dock, and pretend to be looking for a fag in my jacket. I spot Kingsley at the far end of the landing, chatting with another fish seller. He nods impercetibly to me to acknowledge my presence.

"Gotta make this quick if ya don't mind, my assistant gets a bit overwhelmed by the morning rush," Tom says, as he comes up behind me, wiping his hands on his apron.

"Of course, Mr. Hogan," I offer, "I know it's a bad time to chat, but it's better cover when it's busy." He inclines his head in agreement, and casts a quick glance to either side. It's clear he's been watching his back lately.

"So, we've received complaints from three merchants, yourself included. Are you the only three to be approached?"

"Oh, no! Only three that's being noisy about it. There are others, but I ain't finking on no one. They wanna hide, that's their concern."

He assumes a defiant stance at my indication to continue.

"But I don't care what happens to me. I ain't living in fear no more. My wife died in the last war, she did. We stayed out of it, kept our noses clean, still they came for her. She was a Muggle, ya see."

"I'm sorry for your loss. How did it happen?"

He looks past me, remembering. "One day, one of them comes in here, nosing around, makes a comment to her and me, about _blood traitors_, and well, she got tired of it. Had a proud streak in her. She asked them to leave…"

He turns his eyes to me again and continues. "She went to the bank to deposit the day's take, and she never came back. Ministry said she was probably mugged for the money.

But I know what really happened… I know."

_Damn, what do you say in response to that? _

I place a hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Hogan, I know you don't have long to talk. Can you tell me about your recent encounters with dark wizards?"

He sighs heavily, looking so much older than his years, and begins to describe the recent events at Billingsgate.

0o0o0

Back at the Ministry, sitting at my desk, I can't help thinking about Thomas Hogan and his wife. He's a fairly young bloke to be cast in the role of a widower. If he lost his wife in the first war, they can't have been more than newlyweds when she was murdered. There were so many things running through my head during my interview that I wanted to ask, but couldn't.

Did they have any children? Did he remarry? I hope against hope that maybe he pieced together some sort of happiness and moved on. That he's not just another example of a life completely stolen by Voldemort. Lately I'm beginning to feel like the best way to stick it to him is to keep starting over. Refusing to be defeated.

"Tonks?" Kingsley has approached my desk without my seeing him. I must have really been lost in thought. I give my face a little scrub with my hands to wake myself up.

"Yeah, Kingsley, what's up?"

"You alright?"

"Just tired, I suppose. And maybe feeling like we're backpedaling a bit. The Department, and…you know… everyone…"

"Yeah, I know." He looks around to see if anyone's within earshot. The floor's fairly deserted. "Listen, I haven't really had a chance to talk to you since you and Remus started, er..."

It's really endearing how he's searching for the right word, and so I tease him a bit, feigning offense. "What are you suggesting, Shacklebolt?"

"Tonks…" he says exasperatedly. I can't keep up the charade, and I laugh at his awkwardness.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, Kingsley…it's _obvious_."

"Fairly so, yes. Anyway, I just wanted to say that, well…people can be difficult to take sometimes. When they think they know who you should care about and who you shouldn't."

_Oh. _This is a race thing, apparently. It suddenly occurs to me, even though I've met her about eighty times, that his wife is not black. I never thought on it before. Funny that.

"And if you ever need to talk. I know a thing or two about it." Now that's he's gotten it all out, he looks a bit embarrassed.

"Thanks, Kingsley. I appreciate that."

"He's a good man, Tonks, and there's a real difference in him, since you've been…you know…"

"_Shagging_?" He shakes his head at me, like he can't believe I said it. Since when has my being blunt been a shock?

"TONKS!" comes Scrimgeour's voice from across the floor, killing the levity. He's approaching my desk in a rage. Kingsley scurries away. _Cheers, mate_.

"I just heard from the office that you are three weeks behind on your Incident Reports!"

_Oh, shite. _"Sir, I-"

"Stop right there. I don't even want to hear it. Don't think that just because I gave you a pass after your injury, you can take your sweet time from now on. Your well check was almost a month ago. I want all your reports on my desk in the morning. No excuses."

"Yes, sir."

"Up through today's assignment." _What! _

"But, sir, we usually have a week to file."

"Tough shite. Get them done." And he storms out, leaving me in a right stew. _Grrr. _

God, I can't stand that man. Aside from being a hard ass without reason or consistency, he's astonishingly dim for someone who's running a Ministry department. Which is disturbing, in the sense that it probably indicates he'll go far.

0o0o0

Before I even reach the door of my flat, I can smell dinner. Garlic, maybe…I can't really tell…but it smells marvelous.

In contrast, I fear I may still smell of fish guts, and I warn him as such as he comes to greet me. He pays no mind, though, kissing me as if I haven't seen him in a week.

"Remus," I say, squirming out of his arms, and yet incapable of concealing my smile. "I need to get a shower and then I'm all yours."

"Go on, then," he says. "We won't be ready to eat for an hour, at least."

"Perfect," I call over my shoulder from the bedroom, "Scrimgeour's on my arse to catch up on some reports. I'm going to get that started before we eat."

Twenty minutes later, I'm sitting at the small table in my bedroom, that functions as both desk and dressing table, trying to motivate myself to bang out the reports and be done with it. The smell of dinner, accompanied by Remus's gentle humming from the other room, conspire to make me think of a million things other than the shifty character I apprehended last week.

Bored, I look down at my quill, lazily dribbling ink on the parchment.

_Saturday, 18 January, 11:46 p.m. — A distressed witch firecalled the Department to report that a Wizard (or possibly a Muggle) was trying to break into her home at 36 Fishpool Street, St. Albans, Herefordshire. Upon my arrival at the scene, I discovered a male Muggle, unconscious, in the complainant's alley beneath her window. The suspect was aged approximately 35 years, of medium height and build, with dark brown hair. Upon Ennervating, he was uncooperative with this Auror, and had to be restrained using standard _**_Incarcerous _**_. He was taken to St. Mungo's for detoxification spells and processing, including Obliviation…_

What more is there to be said? Boring assignment, boring report. It'll have to suffice. Problem is, I've got six more just like it to churn out.

"How's it coming, then?" Remus pokes his head around the doorframe.

"Meh," I grumble. "I hate this part of the job. I've got to get some of these done tonight, though. I'll catch fresh hell if I turn up tomorrow without them." Resolutely, I pull out a fresh piece of parchment and open up the file of the next case I need to document.

"I'll just deliver this then, and leave you to it," he says, placing a large glass of red wine on the table next to me. I take note of the large bowl and long stem of the glass and turn my face up to him in the mirror in front of me.

"These aren't mine."

"Are now. I appropriated them from Sirius. He's got service for forty people in that bloody house. No one will miss these few."

He's flashing me such a mischievous smile, you'd think he'd gotten up to real trouble. Of course, for Remus, nicking some wine glasses is quite a naughty endeavor.

"Remus Lupin, _you_ are a petty thief. I should be writing one of these reports about you."

"Speaking of which, you'd better get back to it," he reminds me, turning to leave. Which elicits a groan and a pout from me.

He chuckles and pauses to give my shoulders a quick squeeze, presumably to restore my motivation. But it has quite the opposite effect. His hands are large and warm through my damp dressing gown, and my eyes automatically flutter shut at the heavenly kneading of my neck muscles.

And I keep them closed, because for some reason I feel like if open them I'll been giving him permission to stop. Which I most certainly do not endorse.

He doesn't stop, though, just continues to apply yummy pressure to my sore shoulders, and push his thumbs firmly down either side of my neck.

An "_oh…_" escapes me, and I feel him lower himself to his knees behind, to more easily attend to the task.

"You're all in knots. What did you _do_ today?" he asks quietly. "Never mind, maybe I don't want to know." And he continues to rub away any remaining thoughts of Auror incident reports, Scrimgeour, and the like.

Soon, he pulls my dressing gown back slightly to bare my shoulders, making his job a bit easier. Just as I feel my body begin to wilt, relaxing into his touch, I feel his lips against the nape of my neck and straighten back up again slightly.

"Sorry," I feel him say against my skin. "I'm distracting you from your work."

"What work?" I murmur.

His forehead gently resting against the back of my head, he chuckles a bit. "I couldn't help myself. You smell wonderful, and you're still wet…"

With torturous slowness, he slides the dressing gown further down, off of my shoulders, and lets it drop in a heap around my waist where it's tied.

I place my palms flat on the table in front of me in anticipation of what will happen next. But I don't have to wait long to find out. He slides both hands down my back, and then to my sides, and finally finds a perfect fit for his fingers within the grooves of my ribs, just below my breasts. He might be supporting some of my weight by now, which is convenient, because when he starts to pepper little wet kisses down my bare spine, it gets tough not to crumble into a heap.

My body responds instantaneously, arching to encourage his ministrations.

"Remus, you do realize that I'm not the most patient of witches."

"Yes, I'm aware of that," I hear him say, from where he is kissing the very base of my spine. I feel the bold flick of his tongue darting out to tease the tender flesh just where it begins to part on my arse. _Oh God, is it warm... _

With a bit of a whimper, I continue, "And you're driving me mad."

He straightens up then, places his head on my shoulder, and looks at me in the mirror.

"Actually, love, my _intention_ is to drive you mad."

His hands are still just under my breasts, fingers gently tickling the soft flesh over my ribs and belly. I watch in the mirror as he slowly raises his just his thumbs to brush across my hardened nipples.

With a moan, I let out the breath I'd been holding, and I struggle to meet his eyes in the mirror again. His chin is tucked into my neck, and his voice is low and hoarse.

Without breaking our gaze, he says, "And when I'm done with that, I'm going to make you scream. Preferably my name, but I'm open to other ideas…"

And then the sudden sensation of him firmly kneading my nipples, and his tongue behind my ear sends a rush of heat to my very core, rendering me virtually incoherent.

Fuck the reports.

I reach up and weave my hands into his hair, transfixed by the sight in the mirror in front of us. The way he's looking at me, touching me…

"God, I love you," he whispers into my ear. And he pulls me, all of me, off of the stool, and down into his lap on the floor, where he assaults my mouth with his. It's desperate, the way he's kissing me, and it's so hot I'm lost immediately.

I kiss back with equal fervor, gripping his face with my hands, but he pulls away and gently lays me down on the floor. Next he removes the dressing gown, which is still gathered about my waist, and tosses it aside. The hard wood against my back is cool, and I am still wet, and it makes me shiver.

But it's nothing compared to the sensation of his mouth on my tummy, and his long warm fingers gently parting my thighs as he lowers himself further down, down, kissing and nipping along the way. When he reaches his destination, I call out into the room.

I realize dimly that my hands are probably holding onto his hair a bit too tightly, and I should be worried about hurting him, but right now I couldn't be arsed. The things he's doing with lips, tongue and fingers are all I can feel and think about. When he lowers his head a bit further and gives one long stroke with his tongue, all the way from my arse back up, I can't stand it any more and I wriggle out of his path.

"Wha-"

I cut him off with a kiss. Tackle him, actually, to the floor. And when I start relieving him of his clothing at a frantic pace, he laughs out loud at my impatience.

In fact, he's only gotten his trousers as far as his ankles when I decide I'm finished waiting, and I push him onto his back and straddle him, taking his full length into me in one thrust. The low groan this elicits from him is a nice reward for my effort.

Watching him settle himself back on the floor as he catches his breath, the way his hair is all over the place, I think he's dead sexy. Pride already an afterthought, and aching so badly with need that I feel like I might die, I seek out his hands from where they are resting on my hips and pull them up to my breasts.

He immediately obliges and begins to tease them, gentle strokes at first, but soon harder and more forcefully. My body rocks against his roughly and I can hear the physical contact being made between us.

Soon I'm lost in the rhythm we're setting, but I hear him murmur something, and so I open my eyes. "Sorry?"

"Touch yourself," he repeats, looking up me with darkened eyes. This is the part I love most – that he doesn't hold back anymore. He tells me what he wants, what he _needs_ to see and feel to get off. It's brilliant. Coyly, I take my time sliding both of my hands down between my thighs and touch myself, feeling a rush of excitement when my fingertips graze the base of his cock where it enters me.

He moans in appreciation, and watches me eagerly as I show him what he wants to see.

It's all too much, and I allow my head to roll back as I continue to grind against him, my own fingers working feverishly against my clit, while his hands find my breasts, my mouth. I can hear him coming, and I feel the urgency of his thrusts as he lifts himself clear off the hardwood to drive into me. I try to take my time, holding my own climax off as long as I can so I can watch him, but really it's pointless. Ultimately, it's the sight of him coming undone that sends me right along with him. I come apart just as he's sitting up to catch me in his arms as I shudder and curse into his neck.

When I catch my breath, I raise my head and meet his eyes, and we both start laughing.

"What?" I ask, touching his cheek, putting my lips to his smiling ones.

"Bloody hell, Tonks, if a Death Eater doesn't kill me, you just might."


	11. Chapter Eleven: Sea of Tranquility

Chapter 11:

In the fading afternoon light, the shadows are growing long on the washed out old furniture in the parlour of Grimmauld Place. About fifteen or so of us are gathered here, doing our best to pretend we're at Sunday dinner rather than an Order meeting.

Except now that the dinner part is over, it's a bit thorny to deny the existence of the meeting part.

Everyone takes their time gathering, which does nothing to hide our reluctance to do so. We listen to Dumbledore explain his theories on how we should handle the Azkaban break, which, it goes without saying, is the high priority item on our agenda for the evening.

There's been a bit of a cloud hanging over the day; everyone feels it. We had just started to make some headway in recovering morale for the first time since Arthur's attack when this happened. One step forward, two steps back.

Still, we all do a fair job of feigning optimism, if I do say so myself; Dumbledore proposes assignments, and we move off of the topic of the prison break.

Moody has a few choice words about Umbridge, but Dumbledore dismisses her as a minor concern, compared to the reality of ten Death Eaters back on the streets and the possibility of rogue Dementors.

I notice when he speaks of Umbridge, though, that his expression darkens slightly. He might not consider her an immediate danger, but he's clearly concerned about the present state of Hogwarts in the hands of such a person.

Finally, the meeting is adjourned and people don't waste any time in making their goodbyes. Grimmauld Place isn't exactly the type of place in which one lingers unnecessarily. Remus and I are a different story. Settled on a large chaise in the corner, we make no attempt at moving. We're not going anywhere.

Moody is the last of the others still here, and is currently busying himself with packing up his rucksack on the settee across from us. I get the feeling he's making a chore of it for a reason: stalling his departure.

"Lupin, moon's on Wednesday, that right?"

Remus nods his confirmation. "Yes, Tuesday."

"I was just thinking…Albus and I were talking, that is… that we won't be having another meeting until the end of the week, so if you'd want to stay here…"

"Oh," is all Remus comes out with. I don't think he knew where Moody was going with this.

"It's just that Molly was hoping you'd stay nearer this time. Last month she nearly chewed our ears off with how stubborn you are about accepting help post-transformation and—"

"I'll consider it, Alastor."

Moody must feel this is as far as he can press the issue, and so he finishes up and bids us goodnight. In the moments after his Disapparation all we can hear is the ticking of the grandfather clock, punctuating the stillness of the room.

Remus catches me observing him and gives a bit of a look.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing."

"I think it was nice of him." The moment it's out of my mouth I count the seconds until I hear the sigh I know is on its way… and there it is.

"I'm sure you do."

"Remus, they're just trying to be helpful."

"I know that, Tonks. I'm not ungrateful."

"No, just unwilling." Another sigh. Hell, am I that bothersome? "I'm actually glad Moody raised the issue. Have you thought about it since we discussed it last?"

"Can we discuss this later? Alone?"

In a very exaggerated fashion, I look side to side across the empty room and then back to Remus. "Unless you're referring to the doxies, I'm fairly certain we are alone."

He rolls his eyes at me. Despite my current frustrated state, I have to smile at him. He never rolled his eyes until _us_.

"Tonks, please. Let's discuss it later."

"No, Remus. No more _later_. You always put off the things you don't want to address, and this is one of the biggest items on that list." I cringe at the whinge in my own voice, and try to moderate it to sound more even and calm before I continue. "You're avoiding the issue. Why?"

He brings his hands up to scrub his face, surrendering to my persistence. It's an empty victory for me, though. He looks defeated, and the notion that I caused that look doesn't feel so wonderful.

Feels even worse when he turns to look at me and brings his hand up to my cheek.

"Tonks, you've never made me feel our age difference before. Most of the time I don't consider it much of an issue. That surprised me, to be completely honest."

"Go on." I lean forward, as if something important is coming.

"I know you're no fragile thing. Your line of work, the things you've seen. My transformation wouldn't intimidate you, and I'm not ashamed. I trust you."

"You _can_ trust me, Remus, I wouldn't—" He puts a finger to my lips, and I nod. _Shut up, Nymphadora. _

"After the moon I feel like a ruddy _old man_. Broken, battered and grumpy. I wonder—no, that's not right—I _worry_ whether seeing you bounce in all lithe and full of youthful exuberance to nurse me back to health will finally give me a reason to feel like a dirty old codger."

I think all I am doing is blinking. I can't imagine I have an expression of any sort on my face. What is he talking about?

"Youthful exuberance?" I echo his word choice back to him. Is he kidding me with this?

"You know what I mean," he says. There's a smile escaping him, but it's not found its way out yet.

"Sure, I know _just_ what you mean. This has been a great little chat," I tease, making to get up. "Now I hate to run, I'm meeting friends for roller disco—"

This time he interrupts with his actions, not his words, grabbing me round the wrist and pulling me back down to him. "Get back here and stop being a pain in the arse."

He nuzzles my neck in that way that he does, and suddenly we're not laughing so much anymore. He's _so_ warm, and despite the roaring fire in the hearth, the house is always so damn cold. I slide my hands up into his hair and meet his lips with mine.

I'll never get tired of kissing this man.

The way he wraps his arms all the way around me, secure but not confining, firm but gentle. He just feels unbelievably good. And tempting. And, if I shift just so, I can feel him hard beneath me. _Also quite appealing_, I decide, redistributing my weight slightly so as to gain some friction there.

"Eech, cut it out," comes a booming voice from the doorway. "Don't you two ever get tired of that?"

Sirius catches us canoodling all the time now, though, and Remus doesn't even startle. "A foolish question if I ever heard one, Sirius. I'm guessing you don't honestly expect an answer."

I turn around and slide off of Remus's lap and onto the seat next to him, feeling the slightest bit of pride in noticing that he needs to adjust his trousers.

"She's right, you know, Moony." Sirius says, plopping himself down on the settee and turning the conversation in the opposite direction.

This causes Remus to look at him, finally. "Right about what?"

"There's really no reason for her to leave the house during your transformation."

I open my mouth, agog, but Remus reprimands. "Eavesdropping doesn't become you, Padfoot."

Sirius completely ignores this and ploughs on. "Remus, think on it, for pity's sake. She's more capable than me, for one thing, and—no, let me finish—she's seen much worse in her line of work than your sorry werewolf arse."

I can see Remus's jaw clenching and unclenching in frustration. Sirius is quite clever when it comes to managing Remus; he knows that if you come up with an argument that can't be deconstructed with logic, you're already halfway there. Because it's rare that Remus will own that his reasons are purely emotional ones.

Even when they are. As in this case.

Besides, when we team up on him, we wear him down right quick. Sirius can be as tenacious as I can be.

"All right," Remus concedes, holding up a hand to pre-empt my reaction. "On one condition."

"And what would that be?" I'm willing to agree to just about anything for the chance to prove to him that I can help with this part of his life.

"Sirius shows you exactly what he does while I'm usually gone, and," he turns to Sirius, "you stay with her the whole time, just in case anything goes wrong."

His choice of the word 'gone' catches my attention, but I make no indication that it does.

"Where the hell am I going anyway?" says Sirius. _Fair point, that._

o

Sure enough, Tuesday afternoon, the three of us are doing a walk-through of the rooms at Grimmauld Place that the two of them have adapted for this purpose. There are two adjoining chambers off the dining room that I never knew were there. Apparently this space was once used as a staging area by the serving staff for large dinners at the house, to save the guests from having to see the servants passing through the hallway to the kitchen.

Heaven forbid. Typical Black family shite.

Anyway, they've created a safeguard using a complicated combination of actual doors and locks, and sealing charms for added protection. In spite of myself, I'm impressed. It's more secure than where we hold suspects at the Ministry.

The entire room has been stripped of light fixtures and furniture, and the two windows have been boarded up and reinforced with what look to be iron bars. Only a small, low bed remains, tucked into a corner. The wide oak floorboards are uncovered by carpets, and despite being smooth, their falsely glossy appearance suggests one too many _Reparos_. They obviously come through each month post-transformation to do clean-up and repairs. My hearts swells a little with gratitude for Sirius; cleaning up your friends' messes is something you never outgrow.

They run through the usual checklist with me: supplies Remus needs, emergency signals to each other, and the procedure for locking the rooms. It's fairly straightforward, and since Sirius and I will be doing it together, I find myself paying more attention to the way Remus explains things to me, rather what he's explaining.

True to form, what he doesn't say speaks volumes.

Before long, it's time for him to get ready for his 'alone time,' and I follow him into the room to say goodnight. Sirius leaves us.

He pulls me to him immediately. "I'm sorry you have to see all this, Love."

"It's fine. Everything's fine. Short of revealing yourself as Fudge's lover, there's not much you could do to change my opinion of you."

He swats my bottom in jest, but it's rather halfhearted. The helplessness in him kills me; it's not a side of him I'm used to seeing.

Needing to keep the conversation moving to distract myself from it, I ask, "So, now what happens?"

"Now I make myself scarce. We lock the doors and then… well, after moonrise… for awhile, you might… _hear_ me."

"Hear the wolf, you mean?"

He nods without meeting my eyes. "I've asked Sirius repeatedly to cast a silencing charm, but he refuses."

"As he should! What if you needed help?"

He strokes my cheek with the back of his hand. "I'll be fine. Anyway, after a bit it will die down. The noise. Once the wolf accepts that he can't get out, he'll sleep. There are no other options."

"Right. So, then once it gets quiet, we just wait for morning?"

"Yes. That's all." That's _all_. I'm not worried about anything going wrong, either, but somehow the fact that this is _so_ routine for him is a bit disturbing. Or sad. Or something.

"And when can I come to you?"

"Not until _well_ after sunrise. The sun needs to be over the horizon." He's using that tone again, that _be-a-good-girl_ tone. "Promise me, Tonks."

"I promise." It will be a tough promise to keep.

o

Once Remus's rooms are secured, Sirius and I retreat to the parlour. Close enough to hear him, but more comfortable than the adjacent dining room. Naturally we stop by the kitchen on the way. As is our custom on drinking nights, he grabs the firewhiskey and I fetch the glasses.

Once we've settled in, and he's pouring, I say, "Do you do this every month for him?"

"Yeah."

"Thank you."

Sirius looks up from his task, perplexed. Clearly he's not thought of it as a favour before now.

"What did he do before you were available again?"

"I don't know. He's never said, but I imagine he went it alone. Locked himself away somehow. Not like him to ask for help."

"No. No, it's not." The idea of Remus transforming, alone, in the middle of nowhere, with no one to help him should something go wrong, it's not something I care to think about. Especially when we can hear him now and again, through the thick oaks doors, howling, snarling. Helps me visualise the whole scene better than I'd like to.

"Sirius, thanks for helping to convince him to let me stay."

"He is just worried about you, you know."

"I _do_ know."

"He can be a real stick in the mud, but believe it or not, he's more relaxed now than when we were kids."

_More relaxed._ I choke a bit on my firewhiskey. "You've _got_ to be joking."

"No, honestly, I'm not." Sirius laughs with me, at me. "He was so afraid to allow himself the carelessness of youth. Most lads up to no good were running the risk of a detention, or losing a privilege. But Remus, you know, he was rolling a set of dice with more… lasting consequences. And that weighed heavily on him."

"You think he's much different now?"

"Oh, much. This last year, getting to know him again. He's surprised me more than a few times."

"How's that?"

"Well, when I found out he was actually dating I almost lost my head."

Oh, come on. "Surely he must have dated girls when you were younger. At school, and as a young man…"

Sirius shakes his head. "Not often, and even then only when it fell in his lap, or when James and I forced him into it. He hated it… we thought he was just nervous with girls, but looking back, I expect he didn't trust himself."

"But if it wasn't near the moon—"

"Oh, I don't mean he thought he'd hurt someone. No, I think he was too worried about the possibility of caring for someone."

Sirius takes notice of my somber expression, and continues. "It was the same thing this last year. Before you, he never let himself anywhere near someone he might actually feel for. Although a difference I did notice this last year was that he was more diligent in seeking out casual encounters… Sorry, is this bothering you?"

"No!" It's not. I didn't imagine he'd lived as a monk all these years.

I pour myself another drink, and ask Sirius what I've been meaning to ask him for some time. "Do you think we have a real chance, Remus and me?"

Slouching back against the settee, Sirius looks torn. I hope desperately that he's not trying to find the words to let me down easily. Or worse, to lead me to believe something that's not true.

"Tonks, I've never seen Remus so vulnerable with someone before. I suppose it's because I've never seen him in love before. And I think it scares the shite out of him. You get him to open up more than I thought you would, but I think you've got your hands full if you plan to make a lifetime practice."

Put in these terms, it seems quite clear to me that I have no other choice but to make it a lifetime. I can't even think about walking away. "Sirius, I do want to. _Be_ with him, I mean. I can't imagine my life without him in it anymore."

He smiles. Is it sadly, or sympathetically? "I think you're taking the right approach with him. Slow and steady. No pressure. He trusts you more than you know. And he already depends on you."

"I hope so." We should talk of something else. I don't think it's fair to Sirius to play agony aunt all the time, when he's without options of his own at the present time.

"Have you talked to Harry?" I ask.

"Not since he went back to school. There's no doubt communication options are limited at the moment."

"That must be frustrating for him. And you."

His expression stiffens. "That fucking cow at the school, making his life hell. On top of Severus, and the rest of it. As if he doesn't have the weight of the wizarding world on his shoulders as it is. Some days I have to refrain from heading up there to get him."

"Sirius, you need to be careful—"

"Careful?!" He slams his glass down on the table with a little more force than necessary, and it makes me jump, sloshing my own drink around a bit.

"I'm bloody tired of being careful. Where does careful get you? Got me landed in prison for half my life."

"Well, you could end up back there."

"So be it, if I can do something for Harry in the process."

"You don't mean that."

"Don't I? These are desperate times, Tonks. The history books are full of heroes and patriots who in their own times were called rebels, infidels, terrorists… _Insane_."

I move to sit next to him, hoping that physical contact will have more of an effect than my words. "I don't see how there's anything that you could do right now that would help Harry in any substantial way."

"I don't know," he says. He's quieter now, pensive. "When the ones with no numbers and no resources have to fight against those who have them, what choice do they have but to resort to guerilla warfare? Underhanded tactics?"

"You're not planning something, are you?" He's starting to make me nervous. Like perhaps his ranting isn't so arbitrary.

"It doesn't really matter what I do, Love. I'm a fucking ghost already. Just one more bitter ghost trapped in this haunted old house."

The sense of foreboding just emanates from Sirius these days. He used to swing from high spirits to bitter resentment without warning. Now he spends most of his time at just the one end of the spectrum.

My mother always said the Blacks were the worst at passivity. The family hallmark was to be in constant motion, whether living the high life or up to no good. I see this in my cousin. The slow, maddening decay of sitting still in this house is taking its toll on him more than any war might. Maybe even more than imprisonment did.

His feeling of uselessness is eating him from the inside out. I fear that he'll do something impulsive, for no other reason than to break the cycle of dull torpor.

In any case, the mood of our conversation has shifted, and our drinking session is decidedly over. Neither of us needs to say it out loud before we're clearing the glasses and getting ready to turn in.

"You going to stay down here?" he asks.

"I don't think I'd sleep if I went upstairs."

"I thought as much. Try to get some sleep, alright?" He summons a wool blanket from the wardrobe in the corner of the room and kisses me on the forehead. "You're a special person, Tonks. Thanks for taking care of us."

He can be very sweet, when he's not trying to avoid it. "Good night, Sirius."

"Call me if you need anything." I nod, and then he's gone, leaving me on the settee to watch the dying fire. I snuggle into my blanket, which smells faintly of cedar, and is softer than it looked. There is no noise coming from the rooms down the corridor any longer, and I hope that means that he's asleep. That he's resting.

And with this hope, I finally rest, too.

0

When I awaken, sunlight is in fact finding its way through the floor-to-ceiling windows, spilling onto the glossy parlour floorboards. It's still weak, but it's high enough over the horizon to count.

Hurriedly, I make a quick stop in the washroom to clean my teeth and such, and then practically run to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Earl Grey, his favourite. Briefly I consider making some toast, but decide against it. I'll see how he's feeling first and then come back to do it later.

One by one, the locks are undone and the charms are lifted, all while I balance the tea tray on my hip with one hand. _Please, let this be one time that I don't drop it._ Tea trays and I have a dodgy history together.

And then I step inside the dark room; it's silent. I decide it's probably prudent to put the tray down, given that I can't see anything.

"_Lumos_."

My wandlight reveals a series of scratches on the floor, most of them near the entrance. I don't bother to check the back of the door I've just come through; I'm sure there are more there.

Making my way over to the corner where the bed is, I see him. Sure enough, he decided to sleep on the bed, where he remains, without clothing, without blankets, and snoring faintly.

He doesn't look as bad as I thought he might, especially given the state of the room. He's told me that he sometimes wakes with self-inflicted wounds, but thankfully I can't see any apparent injuries. Only the faint red lines remain where his skin was breached by bones and stretched by shifting muscle and organ.

Those marks are well into the healing process, though. The second transformation seems to be as rapid as the first. I hope it's less painful.

Even to my human nose, there is an unfamiliar scent lingering about him. I don't want to disturb him, but I do opt to perform a couple of silent cleaning spells on the bed and on his body, which I hope will make him more comfortable.

The room can wait. I _Accio_ the blanket from the other room and finally climb down next to him, content to just lie here and watch him for a while. To have him to myself again.

Funny, he thinks he looks old and worn out after the moon. But lying here, lost in deep sleep, he looks almost childlike. I always love watching him sleep. He's so peaceful—no furrowed brow like he wears most of the time.

He shifts, and groans, and slides an arm around my waist with a big heavy sigh. I just watch. He is so beautiful. Hell, I love him.

Maybe my mile-wide smile contains some sort of waking powers, because next thing I know he's lifting one eyelid to observe me next to him.

"Hi," is all he can muster. He tries to roll toward me, which causes another groan.

"Are you in any pain?"

"No. No pain. I'm just stiff."

"Is this okay?" I turn into him, press my body to his warm one, knead the muscles in his back. Happy to know he's safe.

"Mmmm. _Very_ okay. That feels…hrmmm."

"Well articulated, Mr. Lupin."

"Don't be cheeky," he mumbles, pulling me closer, tight to him. "And here I was just about to tell you I'm happy to see you."

With a pointed glance toward the place where our lower bodies are tightly pressed together, I say, "I can feel—I mean, tell."

"Shame I don't have the energy to put that to use." _Yes, it is._ But his words give me a wicked notion.

Before he realises what I have planned, I've got to my knees and lowered my mouth to envelop him, enjoying his sharp intake of breath as he grips my arms. He glances down when he feels my tongue swipe the underside of his cock and smirks at the sight of me kneeling before him.

But then, after enjoying it for a moment, he tries to stop me. I brush him off without moving away. "Doesn't it feel good?"

He chuckles. "Of course it feels good. I'm tired, not dead."

"Then _please_ let me please you. All you ever do is take care of me. In and out of bed." I'm not sure this has him convinced, but I don't wait for further permission, just dip my head down and take him in my mouth.

He leans back onto the bed, and brings both arms up to rest across his forehead. He startles as I place my hands on his knees, but exhales contentedly as they run up his thighs, pushing them apart as I settle myself more comfortably between them.

When I pause for a moment, it's hard not to smile because I feel him holding his breath. So I don't go any further. Not to tease, mind, just you know, in the true spirit of consent. Wait to gauge his reaction. My thumbs are running along his groin, just grazing other places, but it seems that's not enough for him after all.

I congratulate my smug self as he arches his back and parts his legs further, leaving me in no doubt that my attentions are welcome. Laughing quietly, and one hand gently cupping him, I settle lower on the bed and resume my position between his knees.

And then he sighs—and, oh, it's the most _fantastic_ sound—when I finally lick and nip at him a bit before taking the head of his cock between my lips and sucking gently.

I have never been particularly confident about my skills in this area, but the feedback I'm receiving makes me feel like an expert.

"Oh my God…" he murmurs, rocking his hips toward me.

He feels so damn good, tastes so amazing, which is obviously attributable to how there's not much I'd rather do than make him feel good. Physically, and a million other ways as well.

And the sexy noises he's making are driving me mad.

Before long, I'm not sure who's enjoying it more. It's addicting, experimenting with different techniques to discern what he likes best. So far it's a close competition between the tongue swirling and the quick, tight plunge downward, both of which seem to go over well.

"Tonks, oh… _shite,_" he curses, raising his hips from the mattress, sending his erection deeper into my mouth. Why is that so arousing for me?

His hands are once again on me, grasping at my shoulders, reaching for my clothing, trying to pull me up. And I'm _so_ tempted to submit, to change the course of things. But I'm nothing if not determined, and I resist his advances and continue in my ministrations. I need to let him know that I'm not playing, not teasing the way I sometimes do just to get him all fired up.

He throws his head back and his hand clutches at the blanket that's now falling off the edge of the bed.__

Releasing him from my mouth for a few seconds causes him to open his eyes and give me a look that is its own reward. I slide my hands beneath him and grasp his arse a bit roughly, making a direct contrast to the gentleness of my thumbs, which are ghosting past his most private spaces and making him gasp.

"_Mmm Tonks… yes… that's… yes,_" he whispers, babbling.

I stop to blow on his hot flesh and he arches up off the bed once more.

"Yes," he hisses, as my lips surround him again, and this time his eyes stay open and meet mine. And he wraps my hair in his fist, a little desperately, actually. His expression, the look in his eyes, tells me everything I need to know.

Remus breathes deeply, and I can tell he's still trying to hold back from the edge of climax.

"Let go, Love," I whisper, before increasing my pace and pressure, my tongue tracing every groove and detail of him, my fingers wrapped around him, stroking. He makes a small grunting noise as he obeys, his head falling back onto the bed with a soft thud that make his body buck beneath me at the slight impact.

I climb up next to him and lie still as I can, enjoying the sound of his laboured breath and intermittent sighs. Eventually we are quiet, and after a time I think Remus has drifted back to sleep.

So it startles me a bit when he finally speaks. "In all my life there's never been anything I couldn't resist if I set my mind to it. Nothing I couldn't turn down, no person I couldn't choose to walk away from. But I can't walk away from you."

_Should I respond?_ If his candor is fueled by my quiet, I don't want to ruin it. So I just snuggle closer to him, without speaking.

He pulls me on top of him so he can look at me. "I'm changing, Tonks. I spent my whole life creating… some sort of life, anyway… and despite its shortcomings, it _worked_. I swore I'd never compromise that. But you, well, I'd do anything you asked."

"Wow. 'Spose I should do this more often, then?"

"It's not the sex and you know it. At least I hope you know it."

"I hope I know it, too." I still have doubts. Even now.

"Don't be unsure, then." He looks me directly in the eyes, so intent. "I love you. Couldn't choose not to if I tried. I have never let anything have this much control over me. But I've also never had so much to lose."

I don't know if this is acceptance or defeat for him, this realisation. And I don't know if I want to know, so I don't press.

He, too, lets the topic go.

"Have I ever told you that before I was bitten, I was a budding astronomy buff?"

"No."

"I was. My father had given me a telescope as a Christmas present and I was immediately obsessed. I spent hours in the backyard charting the night sky, staying out until I was shivering. Even then I'd protest when my mother came out to retrieve me."

I'm in a sort of sleepy trance, what with the post coital bliss and the pleasant surprise of having Remus share something personal from his past. The combination sets me up for a bit of a start when he asks, "Can you guess what was my favourite thing to study?"

_Oh, no. _

Reluctantly I voice my guess.

The obvious one.

"The moon."

He laughs, but it's forced. "How's _that_ for irony?"

Tears fill my eyes as I picture the young Remus, broken-hearted at losing something he treasured as completely as only a child can.

"Remus," I say gently, raising myself up on one elbow. "Someday I'm going to show you the moon again."

"I know," he says, absently stroking my back. "I know you will." He's sleepy now, too, and dismissing my statement as a kind but essentially hopeless sentiment. He doesn't believe me. Not really.

But I never had a real purpose in my life until I decided that I would give this man what he needs, and so I add the impossible promise to my list, regardless of what he thinks.


End file.
